


I'm Waiting For It, That Green Light (I Want It)

by Imdying



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe- YouTubers, Bambam is what James Charles WISHES he was, Eventual Smut, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Jackson is an evil genius, Jinbam are best friends, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Switch Bambam, excessive use of the word "influencer", only sometimes, switch yugyeom, yugyeom's a secret romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imdying/pseuds/Imdying
Summary: Kim Yugyeom is cute, funny, successful, he understands what it's like to be an online personality, and he's basically everything Bambam's been dreaming about in a guy. He's also straight. And oh well, Bambam can deal with that; it's not like he isn't used to it. That is, if Jackson Wang can refrain from ruining the whole thing.The one where Yugyeom and Bambam are Youtubers and they fall in love, against their will, over an embarrassingly long period of time.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Kim Yugyeom, Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang
Comments: 38
Kudos: 188





	1. In Which Jackson Wang can't help himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yugbam Youtuber!AU. These two idiots are so underappreciated in got7 fanfic so I'm just doing my civic duty.  
> This has been sitting in my drafts for months but quarantine got me like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

When Bambam was a kid, his mother used to let him sit in front of her enormous oak vanity and play with her makeup. She would listen to Jung Ji-Hoon and laugh when he smeared lipstick instead of blush on his chubby tan cheeks. She showed him how to put the mascara on to accentuate his already dark lashes, clapping happily the first time he successfully applied it on his own.

Even now, sometimes the image of that dark, masterfully carved vanity still appears in his mind when he sits down to do his own makeup for the day.

Every now and again she would get this sad little look in her eye, before it would vanish, replaced with a glowing smile that would warm Bambam up from the inside out.

He remembers, once, when he came home from school, with tears in his eyes and a dirty torn pair of jeans. His mother had scooped him up into her arms and counted down softly into his ear until he could breathe steadily again.

Whispering into his neck, she had said, “Oh, my sweet Bam-ie. Life, at times, is going to be a little harder for you than others. But I promise you, it is going to be that much more worth it, in the end. One day, everyone will come to appreciate your beautiful soul. I promise.”

Bambam didn’t fully understand what she meant at the time, but he remembers drifting to sleep in his mom’s arms, and the warm rain beating down on the windows. 

* * *

The camera clicks off, and Bambam collapses back into his chair. A million things immediately start running through his mind; particular jokes that will need certain editing tricks to make sure they hit, his upcoming upload schedule, what he’s going to eat for dinner tonight.

From the corner of his quiet perch in the studio, Jinyoung perks up.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get one more take on that outro, bam-ah? Didn’t really quite stick the landing there, did you?” he asks, sickly sweet.

Bambam clicks his tongue disappointedly.

“A little catty today, aren’t we, Junior? Did another client cancel on you after they found out the rumor about you giving happy endings really wasn’t true?” He quirks a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Jinyoung’s mouth flattens into a dangerous line at the use of his unfortunate nickname, but Bambam just laughs at him.

“Come on, let’s order postmates for dinner, it’s getting late, hyung. Indian or Italian?”

Jinyoung seems to let it go, making a vague gesture with his hand like he couldn’t care less and returning his attention to his phone. Bambam makes sure to order Italian, because they had Indian last week and he knows Jinyoung would throw a fit when the food arrived.

Eventually the food comes and Bambam tips the starry-eyed delivery driver an outrageous amount, winking as he shut the door like the insufferable flirt he is.

He throws the bags of food on the dining table and Jinyoung lunges at it like a starving animal. Bambam just rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s liked roughly 20 cat-related posts on his explore page before a notification appears on his screen.

“Jackson Wang is having a party at his place tomorrow.”

Jinyoung slurps up a mouthful of Fettuccini Alfredo and hums in contemplation.

“Jackson Wang… Was he the one with the blonde hair and gold chains? Bit of a fuck boy? Or was he the cute dancer who broke his leg on camera doing a Beyoncé cover?”

“No, that was Kai. Jackson’s the blonde one. Remember, we filmed that collab in October? We did each other’s makeup blindfolded? You should remember, it got 15 million views and #1 on the trending page, no thanks to your shitty editing job.”

Jinyoung delicately takes off his thick, black rimmed glasses and buries his head in his hands.

“Why do I continue to put up with you…” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

“Because we’re two fabulous foreigners who managed to find each other in this godforsaken, beach-blond, whitewashed city and we have to stick together,” Bambam sing songs back. Jinyoung heaves a sigh and puts his glasses back on.

“Well I’m not going. You know I hate the youtuber crowd, insufferable egomaniacs obsessed with views and ad revenue, every last one of them. They’re all probably just going to be recording themselves all night anyway to post for their sycophantic followers.”

Bambam blows him a kiss. “Love you too, Jinyoungie~”

Jinyoung always complained about Bambam’s influencer friends. Jinyoung was an old-fashioned make-up artist for movies and even some celebrities, claiming he preferred to be behind the screen rather than in front of it. He also tended to talk like he was three decades older than he really was.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being well-read, Bambam muses. It’s just the _things_ Jinyoung chooses to say (read: complain about) with his brilliant mind and impressive vocabulary that were the problem. The phrase “kids these days” had been used in their household unironically far too many times to be considered acceptable.

He and Bambam had met at some brand’s launch party, years ago now. Bambam wistfully remembers the dark green tinted sunglasses and crushed rose-colored velvet suit jacket he had worn like it was yesterday. His hair had been an unfortunate salmon pink at the time. The two of them had gotten champagne-drunk and bonded over their shared love of glitter pallets. They'd been inseparable ever since.

“JB will probably be there, don’t you think?” Bambam asks innocently, not looking up from his phone.

He sees Jinyoung’s jaw tighten out of the corner of his eye at the mention of his not-so secret internet crush. Bambam had idly sent his roommate the singer’s cover of “Fly Me to the Moon” a couple weeks ago, and Jinyoung had been gone without a trace. It was cute.

Jinyoung grabs his container of pasta and stomps upstairs to his room without another word. The heavy slam of the door echoes throughout the apartment. Bambam tries to suppress a smile. He wishes that his friend didn’t make it so much fun to tease him. The delightful little reactions Jinyoung gave when Bambam pressed his buttons were just too good not to chase.

Bambam checks his eyeliner in the reflection of his dark phone screen. Then he unlocks it, and sends a text to Jackson Wang telling him to put Bambam and his friend down as a definite maybe.

* * *

Bambam doesn’t like to drink. Partly because he’s twenty and therefore not legal in the U.S, unlike in his lovely hometown of Bangkok. Partly because he doesn’t like to lose control of himself, to feel like he’s not in command of his own mind and body. It seems, to him, like a dangerous thing to do, especially in a crowded room full of near-strangers.

The same, unfortunately, cannot be said about Bambam’s tragically wasted best friend. Currently, Jinyoung is desperately grinding back against an Instagram model that Bambam vaguely recognizes in the middle of Jackson’s living room. Bambam idly wonders if he’s going to have to haul the elder’s drunk ass home tonight, or if he should leave him at the fate of whoever his catch of the night happens to be. He has a feeling that Mr. Instagram model doesn’t stand half of a chance.

Bambam feels a presence appear next to him on the couch, and suddenly he is met face-to-face with the man of the hour himself.

Jackson Wang, in Bambam’s mind, had always been a person of interest. He was something special.

Jackson was a bright, genuine magnet that charmed and attracted everyone that came across his path. A whopping 25-million subscribers, but he never bragged and he poured as much passion and originality into his content as he had since day one. He was frat-y and loud and obnoxious, but he radiated this baffling, warm acceptance in every video and time Bambam had run into him in person. He was out and proud, a valuable and vocal voice in the LGBT community, for which Bambam respected him deeply.

Jackson Wang was someone to look out for. He had an eye for the platform and the audience unlike anyone Bambam had ever seen, and it excited him.

Jackson greets him with a 100 mega-watt smile, asking in a voice raw from shouting how he had been enjoying the party so far.

Bambam stretches luxuriously and sets his half-empty can of coke on the coffee table.

“Not as much as my roommate over there, obviously, but it hasn’t been terrible,” he replies, gesturing towards Jinyoung on the other side of the room. The dark-haired man had abandoned his previous partner, and somehow a dance circle had formed around him. Jinyoung shakes his beloved backside in an admittedly impressive rhythm as the crowd cheers him on. Bambam makes sure to record a video so he can hold it over his head forever.

Jackson’s eyes sparkle as he catches sight of the spectacle and he lets out one of his high-pitched giggles.

“Jinyoung, right? I remember him from when we filmed at your place last. He said my tracksuit made me look like an alcoholic gym teacher that gets too friendly with his students,” Jackson snorts lightly, “I’m glad to see he can loosen up after all…” The look in the blonde’s eyes simmers into something else, and he doesn’t elaborate any further.

And, oh. Well isn’t that interesting. Bambam stores this information away into his _Things That Can Be Used For or Against Jinyoung in The Near Future_ file. It's different from his _Things That Can Be Used For or Against Jinyoung in The Distant Future_ file. 

“Ah, I see,” Bambam sighs, with a knowing nod. He leans closer to whisper into Jackson’s ear, mischievous. “That just means he likes you.”

Bambam doesn’t really know if Jinyoung gives a single fuck about Jackson Wang, but he seizes the opportunity to sow the seeds of chaos, like any good best friend would. Jackson flushes happily, whether from alcohol or the admission, he isn’t sure.

“Is your friend JB here?” Bambam asks, his curiosity getting the best of him. For a brief moment, Jackson looks surprised at the sudden inquiry, but he gestures over towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, he’s been here all day. He helped me get ready for the party. Jae’s actually the one who vetoed the extreme beer tournament pong idea with live punishments. Or at least he said it would be a bad idea to film it,” Jackson tells him sagely. “Too bad, I had already had the tattoo artist booked and everything.” Jackson looks mournfully into the distance.

Im Jaebum leans over the kitchen counter looking sharp and menacing, the metal in his ears glittering dangerously under the fluorescent light. Personally, JB wasn’t Bambam’s type but even he had to acknowledge the subtle thrill that shoots up his spine at the sight of the singer, with his lean figure and timeless leather jacket. Jackson sends a drunken little wave in his friend’s direction, but Jaebum’s interest is elsewhere. Bambam follows his gaze back to the dance floor, where Jinyoung is now tipsily slow dancing with a pretty girl to an ear-shattering EDM song.

And _oh._ Well isn’t that interesting, too. Bambam tries, and fails, to crush the surge of jealously he feels towards his best friend’s ability to bewitch _two_ appallingly handsome men without even having to talk to either of them. Meanwhile, Bambam has a pathetically difficult time with so much as getting a text back on most days. How rude of him.

Bambam turns his attention back to Jackson.

“So why this party, and why tonight?” he asks loudly over the music, “It’s a Thursday evening, in the middle of January. What is it, your dog’s birthday? Found a surprise 20$ bill in your couch cushion? Anniversary of your first gay panic?" At Jackson's affronted laugh, Bambam wags a knowing finger, "Ah, of course! Truly a special time in a man’s life.”

Jackson’s chagrined little smile resembles a guilty child who’s just been caught red-handed, elbow-deep in the cookie jar. 

“OK, you got me,” Jackson raises his hands in surrender, “It’s more of a networking thing, I guess. I think I’ve got something big in the works, and I’ve just been trying to get all my affairs in the order in the meantime. The party just makes it a little more convenient for me to see the people I need to see.”

Bambam is struck, once again, by just how cunning Jackson Wang secretly is. The blonde suddenly seems much less drunk than he did a second ago, and the small smile playing at his lips much more wicked.

“Jackson, you sneaky little bastard. I should have known,” he says wryly, “Well, whatever it is, you’ll be sure to keep me in the loop, won’t you?” Jackson puts his hand over his heart like he’s offended.

“Of course I will, Bamie! You’re my one and only guru, you know that right? You’re the only one who can ever get my eyeliner right anyway,” Jackson assures him solemnly. Bambam allows the muscular teddy-bear of a man to fawn over him for a moment, pretending to check his reflection in the glossy black of his fingernail polish.

A loud commotion draws their attention to the living room again. It seems someone has emerged to challenge Jinyoung in the dance circle.

The first and only thought that runs through Bambam’s head is _trouble._

A young man, tall, in a strawberry red jumper and a wild overgrown mop of hair. Bambam sees a sharp, strong jawline. A pretty mole just under dark eyes and long eyelashes. The boy is dancing wildly but there’s a precision to his energetic moves, his black sneakers gliding over the dancefloor. He pops and locks like his life depends on it as Jinyoung moonwalks with a challenge in his eyes.

The crowd reaches deafening levels as the boy drops down to grind on the floor in a display that is indecent in every sense of the word. Jinyoung laughs loudly and open-mouthed in a way that he hadn’t used to until recently, and throws his hands up in an admission of defeat.

The boy heaves himself off the floor with a dazzling smile and leans forward to shake Jinyoung’s hand good-naturedly, his face flushed prettily from exertion.

Jackson notices him staring and mistakes it for confusion.

“Yugyeom Kim,” observing Bambam’s surprise at the name, he adds, “His parents are like _really_ Korean. He lives in the house with me and the other guys. You must have seen him in some of my videos. Well, you would if you actually watched my videos.”

Bambam is a little too distracted to huff good-naturedly at Jackson’s tease. The boy, Yugyeom apparently, is looking over directly at Bambam and Jackson. He waves animatedly at Jackson and pauses when his gaze slides over to Bambam. Then he bites his lips, winking as he disappears back into the drunken crowd of people.

Bambam narrows his eyes and looks away hurriedly. Internally, he debates whether it's too late to grab something to drink after all.

_Trouble indeed._

* * *

Jackson has an _idea._

Bambam relays this to Jinyoung, who is currently face down on the floor of their living room at two in the afternoon, groaning loudly.

“Did I really make a fool of myself in front of Im Jaebum?” His voice is muffled by the carpet.

Bambam ignores him, turning back to his FaceTime call. Jackson’s eyes light up on the screen when he hears Jinyoung’s voice.

“Oh, is that Jinyoung? Tell him I said hi! And also that I was very impressed by his dancing prowess last night,” he says waggling his eyebrows. Jinyoung just groans even louder in response. Bambam rolls his eyes and make a motion for Jackson to continue.

A YouTube games. “An Olympics, if you will,” Jackson declares grandly, “Although, we actually cannot use that term because it is copyrighted and we _will_ get sued.”

A month-long competition with some of the biggest names on the internet, all found right on the Jackson Wang channel, of course. _YouTube history,_ Jackson confides to him in an excited whisper.

5 teams, and a 100,000$ cash prize. When Bambam asks Jackson where the hell he got all that money from, he lazily brushes him off, telling Bambam that the administrative costs of running the whole thing will be 5 times the prize anyway.

“So?” Jackson prompts, his voice crackling softly over the phone speaker, conspiratorially. “Are you in or what?”

Bambam’s heart races in his chest as the possibilities begin to run through his mind. The bump in subscriber count, the buzz it would generate, the sheer views alone. But he can’t deny the thing that excites him the most is something Jackson mentioned. _YouTube history._ The thought rumbles under his skin like lightning.

Sure, Bambam could continue, business as usual, making content like “ _Doing My Makeup in The Dark 3”._ And, really, there would be nothing wrong with that.

 _Or_ he could go out on a limb and take a risk, do something new. Something exciting.

His mind wanders back to Yugyeom Kim. Though he would vigorously deny it to his deathbed, Bambam had spent the rest of last night and most of this morning scouring the internet for information about the mysterious dark-haired boy from Jackson’s party.

Jackson had been right, and Yugyeom appeared in every one of Jackson’s uploads without fail. How Bambam had missed him up until this point, he honestly has no idea. Bambam was dismayed to discover that in addition to be unfairly cute, Yugyeom was also funny and charming; someone that he would probably want to be friends with under normal circumstances.

But then he remembers that teasing wink from the night before, and the uneasy feeling in Bambam’s stomach is too much to ignore. Jackson’s friend was dangerous. And he would _definitely_ be at these games.

“Hellooo? Earth to Bambam?” Jackson’s exasperated but amused voice breaks his contemplation.

Bambam spares a glance at his exhausted best friend sprawled on the floor. He pouts deep in thought for a quick, intense moment, before finally thinking to himself _fuck it._

“I’m in,” he says definitively, “But _only_ if you save a spot in your games for my dear friend Jinyoungie.”

Jackson’s responding grin is bright enough to blind the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bambam is a serial eye-roller.
> 
> If anyone's wondering, everyone except Bambam and Jinyoung are American/Californian. Everyone else introduced from here on out will be to, unless otherwise specified.
> 
> I hope you're ready for pure unadulterated shenanigans! Thank you so much if you're reading this and please leave a comment about what you think, and any suggestions you'd maybe like to see in the future.


	2. In Which Mark Tuan is a Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn this chapter got away from me
> 
> Stream 100 Ways y'all
> 
> Also I'm not really going to clarify this in-story, but the whole crew is going to be filming for two weeks, but through the magic of ~YouTube editing~ and all that it will be uploaded over the course of a month. For that reason as well, the videos would be uploaded a couple weeks after they were actually filmed. I just didn't want to assume everyone knows the ins and outs of how uploading youtube videos works.
> 
> Anyways, with all that out of the way lets jump straight into the chaos!

It isn’t until he is standing on the sprawling lawn of the mansion Jackson has rented, clutching his luggage to himself, that Bambam starts to have second thoughts.

He exchanges a brief look with an equally wide-eyed Jinyoung. After a moment, Jinyoung appears to shake off his nervousness, grabbing his suitcase off the grass and moving to enter the house. He grabs the nape of a dazed Bambam’s neck and ushers him in through the large white double doors.

It seems Jinyoung and Bambam are the last people to have arrived. The foyer of the house is teeming with life, shoes and bags already strewn across the floor and people gathered in small pockets whispering excitedly. He feels, for a second, like he’s back in high school again, nervously fluttering in the front of the class on the first day. Bambam shudders at the thought and thanks the universe that he'll never have to set foot in a school building ever again.

He peers nervously around the room, while Jinyoung surveys the scene with an almost scientific-like fascination. Bambam doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much star power in such a concentrated space, and wills himself to play it cool.

Daniel Kang lounges casually over the edge of an arm chair, airily scrolling through his iPhone and Bambam has to force himself not to run over and ask for an autograph. Over by the kitchen entryway it looks like Mina and Momo have already gotten into an argument, both girls gesturing wildly while people around them watch in amusement. At the foot of the staircase, two young men chat idly with each other, heads ducked close together, and Bambam squints, thinking to himself that one of them looks really familiar—

“Hey Bam, isn’t that Chris Bang?” comes Jinyoung’s giddy whisper, “Isn’t he that Australian guy you always used to hook up with—"

Jinyoung trails off in a pained groan as Bambam’s elbow connects with his ribcage. “ _Ah,_ fuck, why are your elbows so damn bony. Those things should be considered certifiable weapons,” he grumbles, out of breath. Bambam chooses not to respond, pushing past Momo and Mina into the kitchen.

Quite a few people already have cameras out, no doubt filming behind the scenes vlogs for their own personal channels.

Before he can even blink, Big Matthew (as his fans lovingly call him) has a camera in his face and a hulking arm slung around his shoulder. “Ayo, look who just entered the building! It’s the beauty king, the man himself, Double B!” Matthew exclaims in his deep, thundering voice. Over by the sink, Amber makes airhorn noises.

Bambam shifts easily into his more boisterous online persona, moving his hands like he’s about to start spitting a verse. “Ay, what’s up BM, it’s your boy Bambam. You already know, young and rich, ready to take home the crown,” Bambam winks and Amber and Jinyoung break out in disbelieving laughter behind him.

“I already know that clip is going to age _so_ badly when your team loses miserably,” Amber snickers.

Matthew sets his camera down and pulls Bambam into a one-armed hug. “Real talk, though, it’s so good to see you man. It’s been _way_ too long. When’s the last time you left the house, dude?” the tall man teases.

The fact that Bambam actually has to take a second to think about it has them all setting off again. He realizes, a tinge embarrassed, that it was probably Jackson’s party, over a month ago now. He blames Jinyoung. His hermit ways can make Bambam forget that anyone existed outside of the walls of their apartment, sometimes for months on end. 

The scuff of a new pair of shoes entering the kitchen startles Bambam out of his contemplation. Bambam’s eyes shift from the Converse and travel up an impossibly long pair of legs, climbing higher until they finally reach the face of the newcomer.

Yugyeom Kim stands in front of him, looking dreamy in a sunflower yellow t-shirt and vintage high-waisted jeans, hand held out firmly for Bambam to shake.

“Hi, I’m Yugyeom, I don’t believe we’ve formally met yet. I’m part of Jackson’s little ensemble,” his voice is high and sweet in real life, something about it just a little bit different than how it sounded over video.

“Your hair is brown now,” Bambam blurts out, once he’s done shaking Yugyeom’s hand (it’s warm, just a bit larger than Bambam’s).

Whoops. Jinyoung titters meanly and Matthew and Amber glance at each other like they’ve just discovered something extremely interesting.

Yugyeom's eyes turn into crescents at the force of his glowing smile. “It _is,_ thank you for noticing. I just got it done.” He runs a hand absentmindedly through his freshly-dyed caramel locks. It looks so fluffy that Bambam has to physically restrain himself from running a hand through it too.

“You know, I’ve actually been a big fan of you for a while, Bambam. I’ve been subscribed since 2016, when you were still calling yourself GlamBam. If I’m being honest, no one else on YouTube does a cut crease like you do.” Yugyeom tells him with such a sincerity that Bambam can’t tell if it’s a joke or not.

Bambam wonders if it’s too late to flee the country and live out the rest of his days as a Buddhist monk in a remote temple somewhere. He would have to shave off his beautiful hair, but he thinks that's a sacrifice he's willing to make. Jinyoung is laughing so hard now that it’s silent, his shoulders shaking from the power of it. Matthew silently mouths the words "GlamBam" with a dumbfounded look while Amber slaps her hands against the kitchen counter in an effort not to burst out laughing.

Bambam is saved from having to come up with a response when they hear a commotion coming from the living room. There’s a rush as everyone across the house hurries over to pile into the front room. When he finally spills in and catches sight of what was causing all the excitement, Bambam’s jaw drops.

Jackson stands at the top of the stairs, clad in white robes and a crown of laurels nestled into his blond hair. He clears his throat and waits for the room to fall quiet. “Ladies and gentleman, please gather your things and make your way to the yard. The opening ceremonies,” Jackson pauses dramatically, “are about to begin.

An eager buzz rises up among the crowd as they all turn to head outside. As Jackson makes his way down the stairs, his foot gets caught on the edge of his ridiculous toga and he goes tumbling. He freefalls the rest of the way until he’s caught at the bottom step by Roseanne Park. The few stragglers left behind scramble to make sure the loud blond man is okay, and Jackson assures them that he is, his arms still locked firmly around Rosie like he’s a freshly rescued damsel in distress.

“Alright every one, run along,” he shoos them away, “There’s still games to be had, prizes to be won, and punishments to be dealt!” Jackson’s eyes glitter darkly, and he dashes out to the lawn.

At Bambam’s side, Jinyoung wipes away a tear of laughter and sighs happily. 

“Oh, dear. Now _this,”_ he claps his hands together, “is going to be fun.” 

* * *

“Ok, is everybody ready now? Camera’s are going live in 3,2,1…”

Jackson stands in the middle of the lush green yard, standing on a large podium with his toned arms spread wide, his faithful squad situated closely around him. Yugyeom, Matthew, Ten, Amber, and Jackson’s camera man all surround him like the muses, and Jackson himself is Zeus, with his booming voice and the gleaming gold shadow that adorns his eyes.

Meanwhile, the rest of them are standing in a formidably large semi-circle as they wait for Jackson to get through his opening spiel. It’s all bit too _Hunger Games_ for Bambam’s taste, but he can only hope that Jackson doesn’t start to throw them weapons and telling them to fight to the death because he knows Jinyoung’s coming for his ass first.

“Alright, on to the moment I know you’ve all been waiting for; the choosing of the teams,” Jackson says, addressing them all. “Now I bet you’ve been wondering how we decided to go about splitting every one up. Team Captains, perhaps? Drawing names out of a hat? Maybe by subscriber count?” Yugyeom flicks Jackson behind the ear and a couple of people scoff lightly.

“Well, since I don’t trust any of you not to cause _drama_ by picking your own team mates,” the glittering man on the pedestal narrows his eyes playfully, “I have decided to split the teams up according to the kind of content you each create. Will having shared a shared passion bring you and your partners closer together? Or will it end up tearing you apart?” Jackson cackles maniacally.

Bambam’s interest is undoubtedly peaked. He searches around the circle and tries to categorize who might be on what team. Jinyoung will definitely be sticking with him, something they’ll both complain outwardly about, but Bambam is secretly grateful for. To have his best friend keeping him grounded in this whirlwind of action and chaos is definitely an advantage for Bambam, and one he will happily exploit.

There are a couple people that Bambam actually doesn’t think he recognizes and he wonders absently how they’ll be sorted. He sees a few pretty girls looking stylish and put together that he’s hoping will get put on his team, whatever it ends up being. There are also more than a couple of rowdy-looking guys present. The thought of working more closely with _any_ of them has Bambam sweating under his collar a little.

He’s not looking forward to the possibility of having to “play nice” with any frat-rejects or stuck-up douchebags for two long weeks. He isn’t even sure if he can. Bambam pushes the notion away, trying to have a little more faith in Jackson’s taste in people.

He sees JB a little ways off to his left, looking considerably softer than he did the last time Bambam saw him, in a sky blue oversized t-shirt and a baseball cap. He reckons there’s got to be a team centered around music or artsy crap that Jaebum will definitely get put into.

“As you already might know, there are 5 teams total. We the counsel have determined that these five categories make up the life-blood of YouTube, and with em’ we’ve got everything that you could ever possibly want from your online content." His speech gets a little circus ringmaster-y at the end.

"The teams will be…” Jackson produces a tasteful pastel pink t-shirt with the script “TEAM WANG” emblazoned across the back. “Beauty!” His voice rings out clearly into the brisk ocean breeze. 

“Comedy," Jackson reveals each team’s shirts and colors as he goes along, “Arts, Gaming, and Vlogging!” The other creators _ooh_ and _ahh_ appreciatively, and Jackson looks exceptionally pleased with himself.

“Now please listen as your name is called and step forward to claim your newfound identity,” Jackson commands. Jackson launches into rattling off the names, each one met with a round of cheering as the teams slowly become more identifiable and a rainbow of shirts begin to appear across the yard.

Bambam spots Yugyeom stripping off his old t-shirt in favor of his offensively neon yellow team shirt, catching an eyeful of pale skin and black ink when he doesn’t look away quickly enough. _Holy shit_ _._ Bambam prays to every god he can think of that his face isn't as red as it feels.

He sees a flash of purple sail through the air and hit _zkdlin_ square in the face. _Of course_ Jackson would have bought a t-shirt launcher for this. Bambam doesn’t know why he would have ever thought any different.

“Hey watch out, that leg just healed you know!” Someone calls out.

Bambam’s name is the last to be called and a sudden thrill of anxiety surges through him as he steps forward. Jackson looks surprisingly intimidating standing directly in front of Bambam, elevated on the podium, his figure blocking out the bright sun and creating a sort of halo around him.

“Kunpimook Bhuwakul,” Bambam whines at the use of his legal name, “Hush. The YouTube gods have whispered into my ear, and they have chosen you for… The beauty team!” A bundled-up shirt hits him solidly in the shoulder and knocks the air out of him. He hears applause in the distance over the ringing in his ears.

“Thanks,” he wheezes, and he makes his way over to join the rest of his team. He finds Jinyoung, a fresh-faced beauty guru named Lia, and an elegant fashion youtuber who calls himself _worldwidehandsome,_ as well as a familiar face that he’s shocked to see.

“Lalisa, what are you doing here?!?” he demands, grabbing her ear like an auntie scolding a disobedient child. Lisa giggles and bats his hands way.

“I could say the same to you, Bam-ah,” Lisa squints up at him from under her bangs, “This doesn’t seem like your kind of thing at all. You’re more the type to sit around at home and live-tweet the whole thing when it comes out a month from now.” Bambam feels his eyebrow twitch.

“I’m trying something new, I guess,” He grits out. Lisa looks impressed.

“Well I’m glad you’re here, this is going to be ten times more exciting than I already thought it was going to be,” Bambam resists the urge to pinch Lisa’s cheek, “And hello, Jinyoung nice to see again.”

Jinyoung’s smile is more of just a press of the lips, but he nods politely in her direction and murmurs a low greeting.

“He’s nicer to you than he is to anyone else, you know that?” Bambam tells her, and she smiles smugly. “Spoiled…”

Something suddenly pops into his mind. “I do have to ask, I don’t really remember you uploading that much beauty content. So why the beauty team? You could easily be on the arts team if you wanted,” he says, recalling the last time they went out karaoke-ing and Lisa danced him under the table. To be fair, it had been one of the few times Bambam was drunk. But then again she had been even more wasted than him, so he’s not too sure if it’s a valid excuse.

Lisa shrugs, impish. “I guess you could say I’m trying something new, too.” He sticks his tongue out at her and she responds in kind immediately. He lunges out to playfully grab her t-shirt out of her hands and they dissolve into a childlike scuffle, with Jinyoung having to pull them apart eventually.

He feels eyes on him, and he looks over to see Yugyeom quickly look away, seemingly engaged in conversation with Momo, both of them looking unfairly chic in their eye-sore inducing yellow shirts. Yugyeom looks back for a second, catching Bambam’s gaze. Bambam offers him a nervous smile, against his own volition. Yugyeom’s eyes soften and he smiles back.

Jinyoung cuffs him on the back of the head. “Yah, stop flirting like middle schoolers and pay attention, Jackson’s speaking.”

“Now that you’ve all met and become at least a little acquainted with your new brothers and sisters in arms, there’s no time to waste! The inaugural games begin... NOW!” The last word is timed with a blast of cannons, and a cloud of brightly colored confetti rains down upon them.

Bambam finally delivers the facepalm he’s been building up ever since he first stepped into the mansion.

_Alright then, here we go._

* * *

The opening game ends up being a relay race, one that Bambam wouldn’t hesitate to guess that Jackson designed by hand.

There are five legs, one for each team member; first it’s an open sprint to the other end of the field and back to retrieve the team banners waving proudly on the flag pole. The next team member must then run back into the house and steal and put on an opposing team member’s article of clothing. Then it’s a drinking competition, where the players have to chug one of the five unmarked red solo cups filled with an unidentified liquid. Leg four is a race to see who can jump into the pool and get out the quickest ( _No thank you,_ Bambam thinks to himself). The final lap is to post a picture on Instagram; whoever gets the first mean comment, wins.

Jackson gives them a moment to divvy up the roles amongst themselves. Bambam calls the last task straight away, knowing he’ll be able to do it the fastest, hands down. Jinyoung reluctantly agrees to participate in the drinking contest, although he looks like he wants to strangle Bambam for ever signing him up for this in the first place.

Jin offers to do the sprint. “I’ve got the longest legs after all,” he says wisely. And brave Lia volunteers to be the one who jumps into the pool. Her team mates pat her on the shoulders comfortingly for her valiant sacrifice.

Each team’s sprinter lines up behind the brightly colored starting lines, faces grim with determination. Jackson, as master of the games, raises his right hand up and blows the whistle, and pandemonium erupts.

The runners take off in a mad dash, tearing across the open field with an honestly impressive exhibition of speed for a bunch of internet celebrities. Mark Lee trips and tumbles onto the ground, but he rolls back into a sprint without even missing a beat, hunger in his eyes. The beauty team explode into cheers as Seokjin’s hand closes around the bright pink banner before any of the others, and he turns on his heel and hurtles back to them with the fury of a bat flying out of hell.

The second round of players dispatch as they race into the mansion. The remaining team mates descend into a charged, nervous silence as every one of their eyes fixates on the back door. A few nervous giggles are heard as they all imagine the pure unadulterated insanity that’s undoubtedly happening behind the closed doors.

The silence is shattered when Jaebum bursts through the door, clad in Jinyoung’s preppy striped sweater vest and reading glasses. Lisa follows close behind, a beat-up snapback that definitely doesn’t belong to any of her team mates jammed onto her head.

“Why did you even bring that hideous thing? You know this is going to be seen by people, right?!” Bambam half-screams, half-whispers disbelievingly. Jinyoung’s mouth opens and closes but no words come out and he can only shrug wildly instead.

As the rest of the clothing snatchers file in, the players who volunteered to drink dive forward to grab a cup. The Arts team’s Daniel gets to the table first thanks to JB's head start, but he’s only taken one sip of his drink before he gags violently and the others are able catch up. Momo closes the gap for the Vlogging team as she slams back her cup of soy sauce in a frankly terrifying display of fortitude.

Jinyoung, however, is right on her heels as he downs his cup of straight vodka in three large gulps, making a slight hissing sound as the burn travels down his throat. Bambam sees Jackson’s expression morph into a mixture of fear and arousal.

Johnny Suh lets out pained shriek after he tosses back his drink. “Oh my god, what the hell is this, paint thinner?!?”

“Lemon juice, my dear boy,” Jackson informs him serenely.

Lia and Ten from the Vlogging team both launch in the direction of the pool, the other three teams not too far off. Some of the players who already went rush over to the edge of the pool to ensure that no one gets seriously injured in the name of a YouTube video. Lia plugs her nose and cannonballs in, popping up out of the water after a handful of moments, soaking wet and her makeup smudged but smiling radiantly.

A young dancer from the arts team named Yeji almost slips on her way out of the pool, but JB catches her with a quick, steady hand at the small of her back. Jinyoung practically melts at the sight. Bambam mimes throwing up for the camera. 

Jungkook from the gaming team does a double backflip into the pool, and there's a round of impressed wolf whistles.

“Nice try Jungkook,” Jackson says into his megaphone ( _When did he get a megaphone,_ Bambam wonders), “Points for style, but your team is still unfortunately in last place.”

Bambam’s heart rate skyrockets as he sees Lia hurtling towards him and he realizes that this victory rests squarely on his shoulders. He also realizes that he’s facing off against Yugyeom, who gives him a fiendish grin and croons out a _good luck~_.

Bambam quickly unlocks his phones and frantically scrolls through his camera roll. He selects a photo of him lounging at the beach from a few months ago at random, and captions it “ _Remembering the times when I actually used to go outside lmao”_ with about ten emojis. He hits post, his pulse hammering in his chest.

Yugyeom decides to pick a photo where his tattoos are clearly visible, which Bambam grudgingly admits is a clever strategy. Meanwhile, Rosie, Wendy, and Mina all take selfies together. They title them with obnoxious, overly cutesy captions, hoping to capitalize on the internet’s general hatred of women. 

An agonizing moment passes. Then another. The likes start to trickle in slowly. 1 comment, 2 comment, 3 comments.

Bambam holds his screen up triumphantly for all to see.

“Gay!” he declares victoriously, and his team mates scream in elation and clamor to hoist him up onto their shoulders.

Yugyeom holds a finger up to silence them, holding up his phone as well. “Your tattoos look like a child drew them,” he recites grandly. Yugyeom’s team mates happily congratulate him and clap him on the back.

Jackson speaks up again. “Alright folks, the results are in! That’s Beauty in first place, with Vlogging in the runner up spot, Arts in third, then Comedy, and finally our poor sweet little Gaming Team,” he coos.

Jackson turns to speak directly into camera now, “But remember, this is only our first competition of the games. We’re going to be doing two main videos a week for the next month, as well as a shit ton of extra bonus content, so keep your eyes and ears peeled for that. Leave in the comments below which team you’re rooting for but remember,” Jackson whirls around to face them.

“No matter what team you belong to, we’re _all_ on….” He motions excitedly for them to continue. 

“Team Wang,” comes the chorus of voices, vastly ranging in enthusiasm. Jinyoung snorts violently before he can stop himself. And well, Bambam guesses they missed _that_ memo, but he can’t say he’s too bummed about it.

The cameras shut down and Jackson instantly start to shower them in praise, rambling about how awesome they all did and how great this opening is going to turn out. The giddy blonde informs them that all that’s left for today is some promotional material they want to film with the teams to generate hype, and once they’re done with that, there’s food in the kitchen and he encourages them to feel free and enjoy themselves.

The clamor starts to die down as everyone disperses, some heading to the pool, others to the bedrooms, and Felix Lee just straight up collapses onto the ground, bathing in the golden light of the setting sun.

Bambam’s gaze lands on a handsome guy with a neat undercut and white, sharp teeth that he recognizes as Jackson’s camera man. He offers a hand to him, “Mark Tuan, right? You look different without a camera in your hand.”

Mark chuckles quietly and shakes the hand. “I’m sure. It’s nice to see you again, Bambam. I’ve filmed things for Jackson with you a few times, but I don’t think we talked much,” he says in a low, soothing voice. 

Bambam nods as he contemplates the vague memories that are conjured. He eyes Mark's loose green t-shirt. “Why aren’t you on the vlogging team with all the other guys? Aren’t you part of Jackson’s clique or whatever? What do you call it, the “ _Wang Squad” ,_ something like that?” Bambam knows exactly what it's called, but he's dying to see if he can get a rise out of Mark like he does with Jinyoung. 

“Mark demanded to be put on the gaming team,” a high voice pipes up and Bambam jumps. Jesus Christ, this guy is like a ghost. “And also, no one besides Jackson actually calls it that, just an FYI,” Yugyeom assures him, draping himself across Mark’s back. 

“I already spend enough time with you idiots as it is. If I’m going to forced to be apart of these games instead of just being on the crew, I might as well do something I actually enjoy doing in my spare time,” Mark stretches and shrugs Yugyeom off, before heading off in the direction of the house. “See ya, Bambam.”

Yugyeom rolls his eyes at his retreating back, but he suddenly turns to fix his attention on Bambam.

“You were really great today, by the way.” Bambam thinks he must be imagining it, but the words come out a little bashful. Hesitant. Bambam waves a manicured hand dismissively and his voice goes a little high-pitched.

“What, me? Nah, that was all my team mates. I always knew Jinyoung’s alcoholism would come in handy someday,” Yugyeom laughs. It’s a really nice laugh, Bambam thinks dizzily. “But _you_ were awesome out there. That tattoo idea was really smart.” Yugyeom hums appreciatively. 

“You’re really funny, you know that, Bambam?” Yugyeom’s eyelashes flutter lower, and he leans hotly into Bambam’s space, “I hope we can get to know each other a little better over the course of this whole thing.”

He pulls back slowly and everything remotely suggestive in his expression has cleared away. He breezily makes his way back to the mansion, waving goodbye brightly over his shoulder.

By the time Bambam shakes himself back to reality, he realizes he’s been standing completely stunned for an entire minute straight. He looks around and sees he’s the only person left in the yard and the sun is almost completely set. He dashes back inside, ducking past people who greet him mildly, quickly locating Jinyoung in the music room talking to Lia and Yeji with a flute of wine in his hand. Bambam attaches himself to Jinyoung’s arm, and his roommate sets down his glass to idly card through Bambam’s hair without ever breaking his conversation.

Bambam lets out a sigh he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. He thinks of Yugyeom’s long chopstick legs that make Bambam’s mouth go dry, and the coy looks that he can’t for the life of him figure out if the other boy even notices he’s doing. His head spins, but the scariest part of it all is the fact that Bambam is excited. He finds himself looking forward to the next day, and all the infuriating little things Yugyeom might do and say.

And that is the moment when he realizes, he is well and truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GlamBam lmao. I had waaaay too much fun writing this.
> 
> For those who are curious/confused about the teams, they are:  
> Beauty (Pink): Bambam, Jinyoung, Lisa, Jin, Lia  
> Vlogging (Yellow): Yugyeom, Matthew, Amber, Ten, Momo  
> Arts (Purple): Jaebum, Yeji, Kai, Daniel, Rosé  
> Comedy (Blue): Mark Lee, Johnny, Chris, Felix, Wendy  
> Gaming (Green): Mark Tuan, Jungkook, Brian (Day6), Bobby, Mina
> 
> If you're wondering how I chose the rosters, it was honestly mostly me just looking for the most english-sounding names  
> among all the idols. I am also aggressively multi-stan trash, but Got7 are my ults, obviously. ((I also of course had to get my JYP fam in there.))
> 
> Another little fun world-building fact, Jackson categorizes the arts team as anyone who makes art in their videos, so that includes singing, dancing, animation, short films, the whole shebang. I also lowkey made the arts team /stacked/ like damn that is not a group I want to mess with lol.
> 
> As always, please please leave a comment, I love writing this fic so much and hopefully I'll be back soon with an update.


	3. In Which Park Jinyoung almost gets the point

It’s in the early hours of the morning that Jinyoung finds himself alone on the 4th story balcony.

The cold wind tousles his hair, and he shrinks in on himself. He clutches his steaming coffee mug closer in search of whatever little warmth he can find. The horizon is still mostly dark, but the first rays of sunlight are just on the verge of breaking through the gloom.

Jinyoung doesn’t think anyone else in the house is awake yet. He isn’t surprised, though; he hadn’t expected a building full of high-maintenance divas and personalities to be ready to start the day until at _least_ noon. Bambam had certainly still been passed out in their temporary shared room, snoring loudly with one foot peaking out from under the covers.

Jinyoung does have to admit though, he’s finding himself thinking those kinds of unkind judgements about influencers less and less, as of late. A lot of the people he’s met in the house so far have been… really nice. And kind, and charming. The confession pains him, but he’s been getting along with most of the other contestants, and his team mates really are lovely.

Today marks day four of filming, and truth be told Jinyoung is exhausted. Tired in that all-encompassing way, the kind that’s more mind than body. He’s exhausted, but he’s having way more fun than he ever thought he would have before coming here.

Unbidden, Jinyoung’s mind strays to Jaebum. He bites his lip.

JB had been marvelous company over the past couple of days. Jinyoung had been thrilled to discover how similar the two of them actually were. They shared all of the same favorite books, and their tastes and sensibilities overlapped and complimented each other beautifully, Jinyoung feeling like he’s found another old, kindred soul in Jaebum. He feels like he can sit and talk with the singer for hours, a quality Jinyoung cherishes dearly.

And Jaebum has definitely been putting out a _vibe._ Jinyoung has caught JB staring across the games field at him with a smoky look that he can only describe as “bedroom eyes” on multiple instances. But he also does things like opening doors for Jinyoung and guiding him through them with a soft palm at the small of his back. Sometimes, Jaebum will pull him close and giddily whisper little jokes into his ear like a smitten teenager, and he’ll preen when Jinyoung pulls back to giggle into his hand.

Now, Jinyoung has certainly been in a very consistent slut streak for the past few years. Tales of his thottery are mythic and pervasive across the land, or more accurately, the Hollywood gay scene. But lately when he wakes up and inspects himself in the mirror, to his own mild horror, he notices himself yearning to settle down. And when he imagines the curve of JB’s lips and the twin moles resting above his eye, Jinyoung can’t control the way his hopes expand and consume his heart.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” comes a gravelly voice from behind him, and Jinyoung almost drops his coffee. Jackson grins and moves to join Jinyoung, taking a seat in the vacant lounge chair next to him. He looks different like this, in the dusky morning air. His hair is wild and unkempt, clad in only his _Team Wang_ hoodie and a baggy pair of basketball shorts. Jinyoung can see a hint of dark stubble threatening to show against his masculine jaw.

“I like come out here to clear my thoughts, sometimes,” Jinyoung says, “what are _you_ doing up at this hour?” He eyes him warily.

“Ah, I couldn’t really sleep anyway. All the stuff that I have to do today keeps running through my head every time I close my eyes,” Jackson confides to him. Jinyoung offers the other man a sip of his coffee but Jackson declines with a distracted wave of his hand.

“So how have you been enjoying the games so far? Be honest with me,” Jackson gives him his best pair of puppy eyes.

Jinyoung looks away coyly and pulls his mug closer to his mouth to hid his smile. “They’ve been alright so far, I suppose. Not too terrible…” Jackson mimes like he’s been stabbed in the heart and Jinyoung giggles.

What Jinyoung doesn’t say is the fact that he’s been deeply impressed by Jackson’s charisma and his ability to engage and bring people together, all the while managing an extremely intricate and time-sensitive operation. Jinyoung realizes, with a start, he must have been planning this for months in advance. No one else could have pulled this off like Jackson has, and he’s astounded that he still has the energy to exchange pleasantries with Jinyoung at the ass crack of dawn. 

“The Youtuber-themed round of charades was particularly inspired, I must say. The props were a nice touch. Mark looked quite fetching in that pink wig,” he says, poking him in the arm. Jackson squeals loudly at the compliment.

In all honesty, Jinyoung isn't entirely certain where he stands with Jackson just yet. He subtly watches the other in the low light, thinking. Jinyoung remembers the blond promptly sliding into his DM's, after the party back in January, the one that seems to hang over Jinyoung like a mortifying curse. Jackson was funny, disarming, and the two of them had texted on and off in the weeks leading up to the competition. Jinyoung doesn't really know _what_ he's doing, when he exchanges mundane details about his day with Jackson, thoughtlessly offering up stories of pompous clients and tyrannical directors to amuse him.

Jinyoung doesn't really do the whole "friend" thing all that often. The fateful, drunken night he had adopted Bambam remained an anomaly from his normal, careful patterns of life. He had Bambam, he had his sisters, and he had the doorman of their apartment building who sometimes nodded his head politely when Jinyoung came in through the lobby; that was all he needed. 

But as Jinyoung thinks of how partial he's grown to the sounds of lively chaos in the house—the countless smiles greeting him at the breakfast table, silently begging him to make them his (now) famous pancakes, he doesn't know if that's quite true anymore. The thought of returning to his still apartment, with only Bambam and the cats to fill the wide open space, isn't as comforting as Jinyoung thought it would be. Jesus, these games were really doing a number on him. Jinyoung takes a sip of his coffee, blanching when a numbness spreads over his tongue at the touch of the scalding liquid. 

Jackson asks about Bambam. Jinyoung is touched, and he loves to gush about his pseudo-son, so he talks Jackson's ear off about Bambam's accomplishments and their history together. Jinyoung asks about Yugyeom in return, and Jackson's eyes light up.

Jackson tells him about how he and Yugyeom were each the first person the other met in LA that really stuck. Jackson had been working in a convenience store on the corner of downtown West Hollywood, not too far from Jackson's old apartment apparently, when 17-year-old Yugyeom had tumbled in from the street. Jackson had looked around the empty store at the sight of this absurdly tall, winded teenager clearly on the run, searching for a responsible adult before realizing that would have to be _him._ ("Getting old _sucks,"_ Jackson stops his story to lament, and Jinyoung raises his mug in agreement.)

Not too long after Yugyeom had burst in through the door, a group of less-than sober young men stumbled in, yelling about some "twerp" that snuck his way into the club and danced with some girl he wasn't supposed to, or something like that. They hadn't been very coherent, according to Jackson, and the words were pretty indecipherable towards the end. Jackson wormed his way out of the situation by stashing Yugyeom behind the cashier counter and pretending he didn't speak English (bless his mom for teaching him Cantonese since he was in the womb) until the men lost interest and continued their search elsewhere.

Jackson says he remembers thinking, looking at Yugyeom staring back at him, wide eyed and pressed against the grimy tile floor of the 7-11, that he knew they were going to be friends. 

Jinyoung is still in the process of figuring out how he feels about this Yugyeom boy. It's obvious that Jackson thinks the world of him, and that has to count for something. And sure, he _seems_ like a good kid, maybe a little annoying (and apparently Jinyoung likes that in a person), but Jinyoung is simply suspicious by nature. Yugyeom appears bright and young, down for just about anything in the name of a good time, but Jinyoung needs more time before he makes any definitive judgments of character.

And don't think Jinyoung hasn't noticed the little charade Yugyeom’s been trying to pull with his best friend. He can't, for the life of him, figure out what Yugyeom's endgame is by flirting with Bambam the way he does. So, Jinyoung remains cautious. 

_‘Lord knows Bambam won’t’._

“Ok now spill, has anyone caught your eye yet?” Jackson is saying, raising an eyebrow suggestively and Jinyoung blushes. “Wait, seriously?”

The blush darkens. “It’s nothing serious, really. JB and I have just been hanging out a lot recently.” Jinyoung feels like he’s being crushed under the weight of Jackson gaze. “Alright, c’mon, what’s the look for?”

Jackson studies Jinyoung intently for a moment, before leaning back and letting out an unhappy sigh.

“Listen, Jae’s my friend and everything, probably even one of my best friends,” Jackson starts. He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “But I think Jaebum is…. Confused. About a lot of things. He does a lot of things that don’t really make sense unless your tuned into that conflicted little head of his.”

After a moment of silence where Jinyoung doesn’t say anything, Jackson takes it as a cue to continue.

“ _I_ think that Jaebum’s sort of… I don’t know if denial is the right word, but he’s working through a lot of stuff in here,” he pats the area of his chest where his heart resides.

“But Jinyoung,” he swallows, his voice a little strained, “you should know that you need someone who will proudly claim you as his, and like, shout it for the whole world to hear. None of that _dirty-little-secret_ bullshit, okay? You don’t deserve that.”

Jackson looks so young like this, eyes bright and vulnerable.

All Jinyoung can do is nod stupidly, overwhelmed by Jackson’s severe change in demeanor, barely even processing the words. This starry-eyed, impassioned Jackson who spouts out profound declarations is almost irreconcilable with the man who demanded Big Matthew do a blindfolded strip tease in order to “appease the gods of the internet” yesterday.

The urgency suddenly flees Jackson’s tense form, and he rises out of his chair with a fond smile on his face. “I’ll see you this afternoon for the next competition, Jinyoungie.” He places a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder and squeezes it tenderly before he leaves, sliding the glass door shut behind him.

Jinyoung belatedly observes that the sun had come up at some point while he and Jackson were talking. As Jinyoung watches the sun continue to rise, the world slowly coming back to life again with it, he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.

* * *

It’s almost lunch time and Lisa and Rose are trying to teach Bambam TikTok dances in the study while Amber, Matthew, and Ten play cards and gossip loudly off in the corner.

“Oh my god, can you guys shut up for one second? I almost have the Renegade down, but I can’t even hear myself think over your _useless chitchat!”_ Bambam whines, stamping his foot.

Amber flips him the bird and the three continue their conversation so casually it’s like Bambam never opened his mouth at all.

He growls, irritated, and Lisa and Rosie offer him apologetic smiles. “Another time, girls,” he sighs wearily, and the pair wave goodbye as they exit the room.

At that very moment, Yugyeom strolls by, shirtless with a towel slung over his shoulder. He and Rose collide straight into each other, and Yugyeom rushes to apologize.

“It’s no problem, Yugyeom” she says in her cute Australian accent, “I should have been watching where I was going. See you guys later.” She and Lisa bow politely, the latter winking sneakily in Bambam's direction, before disappearing down the hallway.

“Oh, hi guys, what are you up to?” Yugyeom leans casually against the door frame, and Bambam sort of wants to strangle him.

Amber looks away in disgust. “Ugh, go put on some clothes, you man whore, no one wants to see your scrawny ass.” She lays down her hand of cards and Ten and Matthew groan in disbelief as she moves to rake in the pile of money in the center of the table.

“Sorry Amber,” Yugyeom snickers, not looking sorry at all, “I was just heading over to take a shower. I’ll be on my way then.”

‘At one in the afternoon?’ Ten mumbles to himself, but no one pays him any mind.

“Oh, and Bambam,” Yugyeom raises his eyebrows innocently, “For your own sake, try not to imagine what I’m getting up to in there.”

He clicks his tongue and winks, dipping out of the doorway.

That _bitch._

Bambam needs a moment to properly compose himself. He hastily looks for an appropriately snarky thing to say to get the attention off of himself. “Are you guys seriously gambling right now?”

Matthew sets down his cards and gestures for him to join them at the table, eyes full of fatherly concern.

“Look, Bamie. You should be careful with Yugyeom. Obviously I love the guy, he’s the best, but he _is_ known to be a bit of a heartbreaker.”

“A ho,” Ten corrects. Amber nods in agreement.

“Yeah, remember all those times we went to the gay bars?” she continues, “Let’s just say he’s no stranger to getting free drinks. He has those poor desperate twinks eating out of his hand _every single time.”_ Amber looks torn between admiration and disappointment.

Bambam glares at the ornate-looking painting hanging on the wall. The abstract geometric shapes seem to mock him. “So, what you’re saying is, he’s done this kind of thing before?”

Amber winces. “If by _this kind of thing,_ you mean leading on an obviously whipped gay guy and then hanging them out to dry then yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

‘ _Amber!’_ Matthew whispers furiously. Bambam shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“To be completely fair, Yugyeom’s led a lot of girls on too. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it half the time,” Matthew tries to placate him.

“If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t even want to hook up with _me,”_ Ten tells him solemnly, “That’s how you know he’s straight.”

The gears in Bambam’s head are turning furiously. Alright, first things first, damage control.

“Aish, you guys are delusional,” he gives his best impression of indignation under the circumstances, “I don’t fall for every curly haired dude-bro that so much as smiles in my direction, so you can save me the lecture. I do have _some_ taste you know.”

Three identical unimpressed stares greet Bambam when he dares to peek across the table. Matthew watches him like he wants to say something else, but in a moment of pure, instinctual self-preservation, the beauty guru cuts him off.

“Wow, do you hear that? It sounds like Jackson’s calling me—I better get going! See you guys later for the diving competition, don’t put yourselves into too much debt in the meantime,” Bambam is already out the door before he finishes the sentence.

“You can run from your gay thoughts, Bambam, but you can’t hide!” Amber calls after him.

He scurries off in the direction of his room and slams the door shut, wilting against it and sliding down to the floor once he’s in the clear.

Right. Bambam desperately needs to recalibrate his assessment of the situation. A new plan of action, one could say. Because it's obvious that Bambam's current strategy of uselessly spluttering and transforming into a certified gay disaster™ every time Yugyeom glances at him _clearly_ isn't working. 

Key Point number one: Kim Yugyeom is straight. Bambam considers carving the phrase on his vanity mirror in bright red lipstick just to really drive the point home. Make sure he doesn’t forget it, even for a moment.

 _Self-respect, bitch,_ Bambam smacks himself in the face and immediately regrets it, clutching his cheek in pain, _learn about it._

Secondly, Bambam wants to be Yugyeom’s friend, _just_ his friend, so that is what he’s going to do. Bambam likes Yugyeom, as a person. He thinks he's interesting and fun to be around, and he's not going to let something insignificant like a little one-sided attraction get in the way of what could be a beautiful friendship. 

_See? Only two things to remember_. Bambam pats himself on the back for his outstanding plan-making skills.

He’s going to enjoy the rest of Jackson’s weird passion project, be Yugyeom’s friend, maybe help the beauty team bring the home gold in the meantime, and make fun of Jinyoung about the weird love triangle he somehow found himself in. 

“You can do this”, Bambam viciously reassures himself, jabbing his reflection in the mirror—and that was that.

* * *

Being friends with Yugyeom turns out to be a lot harder than it looks.

Not the being friends part itself—no, that actually ends up being even better than Bambam had first anticipated.

Yugyeom is maddingly sweet and attentive; he’s always the first person to dive head first into whatever stupid antics Bambam starts up. He remembers Bambam’s coffee order without ever being asked, waiting at the table with a peppermint mocha in hand every morning that he slides over when Bambam appears in the kitchen, looking bewildered and disorientated. And when Yugyeom comes up behind him to place a guiding hand on Bambam’s hip and a firm chest draped across his back during the archery competition, it’s because he _actually_ wants Bambam’s aim to get better.

The _problem_ is, as they settle into a more natural rhythm, the flirty unpredictable Yugyeom he was first introduced to begins to filter away. The smiles Yugyeom shoots him now aren’t laced with anything besides real contentment, like he just enjoys being in Bambam’s company _that_ much. And suddenly Bambam is fighting a battle on an entirely different front, one he feels much less equipped to handle. 

Asshole straight boys who flirt with Bambam just because they think it's funny and awkward but well-meaning heteros who hesitate every time before they touch him (like they might catch _the gay)_ are all things Bambam are intimately familiar with. This though, this is a whole new beast.

Yugyeom's a touchy person, he learns quickly. These touches, he learns as well, don't necessarily need to have an intrinsic meaning to them. Sometimes Yugyeom will back-hug Amber or plant a wet kiss on Jackson's cheek just because he wants to; nothing more, nothing less. And now Bambam is included in this easy intimacy too, Yugyeom weaving in and out of Bambam's personal space as he pleases. This is exactly what Bambam wanted. So that's why he has to scold himself internally at the dissatisfaction that still buries itself into the pit of his stomach. 

He lets go of the arrow and it sails through the air, popping the bright red balloon fastened over the target’s bullseye. Yugyeom jumps forward and gathers the smaller man up in his arms, twirling him around in the air as Bambam’s team mates whoop appreciatively. Bambam notices a camera fixed on them, and behind it the middle-aged cameraman takes in the sight of Bambam’s flushed face. He moves swiftly away and focuses his lens elsewhere, clearly trying not to laugh. _Bastard._

Bambam has a theory that he was placed on this earth to be a clown, solely for others to point and laugh at, and he places this interaction in the mounting pile of evidence to support it. He curses the unfairness of the cosmic lottery, and wonders why he couldn't have been born to be wise leader, or a brilliant poet instead. Heck, he'd even settle for something innocuous, like a farmer, or one of those people who leaves yelp reviews for a living. Anything to have a break from that _look_ everyone has been giving him lately, like he's a precious, dumb little puppy that's about to learn a lesson the hard way. 

“Yah, Yugyeom, you are aware you’re not on the beauty team, right?” Momo yells from the other side of the field. “Maybe haul your ass over here and start earning us some points for a change, okay?”

Yugyeom rubs the back of his neck bashfully, offering Bambam and the others a short farewell before jogging over to his own target. Jinyoung’s face is barely inches away from Bambam’s, eyes bulging like they are mere seconds from exploding out of his handsome head.

“Shut up. Don’t even think about saying shit. You look like a bug.” Bambam shoves his roommate away and makes his way over to the goal.

They’re playing another game of Jackson’s demented invention—he calls it “Punishment Archery”. Bambam dips down to collect the small slip of paper that’s fallen out of the balloon.

Jackson quiets down the crowd from atop his thematically-inappropriate life guard chair. “Alright go ahead, Bambam. For fifty points, what is your punishment?” Bambam unfolds the piece paper.

“Oh, _hell_ no. Eat a ghost pepper and sing Karaoke _,_ ” Bambam reads, holding up the slip for the camera to see. The other players prattle, rowdy, some sympathetically and others giddily.

Jackson looks thoughtful. “Well, you can always decline, of course. But you _are_ currently in third place, and an extra fifty points could land the win for your team. In the end, it’s your call.”

Jin pushes him forward expectantly, and Bambam spins around to glower at him. He glances over at Jinyoung, who shrugs, and then over to Lisa, still covered head to toe in whipped cream from her 20-point punishment.

“Alright, fine I’ll do it,” he sighs, and everybody, crew included, cheers delightedly.

He shuffles up onto the makeshift stage under the direction of a cheerful Jackson. A shiny orange pepper is presented to him, and Bambam takes it gingerly by the stem. Someone presses a microphone into his hand, a steady chant of “ _chew, chew, chew”_ rising up from the spectators. Bambam tears into the pepper, swallowing it down as the soulful beginning notes of _Don’t Stop Believing_ trickle in through the speakers.

“Oh shit _,”_ he says into the microphone, and his friends giggle. The first wave of heat washes over his body, hot tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“ _Just a small town giiirl,”_ Bambam warbles sadly, pausing to pant in a vain attempt to relieve some of the spice, “Oh god, _living in a lonely world~.”_ Jinyoung woos encouragingly, and that’s how Bambam knows he looks even worse than he feels. The searing burn has travelled to his nose, and Bambam thinks he can see god.

“ _Ohmigod_ Jackson why are you doing this to me,” Bambam screw his eyes shut and forcefully taps his foot to the rhythm. “ _Working hard to get my fill. Everybody_ wants _a thrill. Paying anything to roll the dice just one more tiiiiime,”_ his voice crackles out pathetically over the last note. Bambam bounces to the beat, hyping the crowd up as the song builds to the last chorus.

“ _Don’t stop believing,”_ Everyone is singing along by this point. Yugyeom and Jackson sway together emotionally, waving their phone flashlights in the air as if they're at a candlelight vigil. It's like a goddamn coming-of-age movie, it's so beautiful, the sight of his peers rallying behind him. Bambam gags ferociously but he’s pretty sure no one notices over the cacophony of voices.

“ _Hold on to that feeeliiing. Hiding somewhere in the niiiiiiiiight.”_ Bambam’s dissonant last note rings out as the group breaks out into thunderous applause.

Bambam doubles over in relief. “Can someone please get me a glass of milk,” he asks feebly, bringing his hand up to rub at his face and wipe away the stream of snot running out of his nose.

Lia swings her arms around madly and squeals, “Wait, Bambam, don’t touch your eyes—”

The shriek that he lets out is near inhuman. Jackson rushes forward to salvage the situation.

“Okay, let’s get a round of applause for Bambam, folks. What a brave young boy he is,” there’s light clapping as Bambam is carried off the stage by Johnny and Matthew, “I would also like to take this time to issue a formal apology to Journey, if any of them are still alive." Jackson glances sideways, imploringly at Mark, who shrugs. 

"Let’s go ahead and put up the scoreboard; and, wow, would you look at that, a three-way tie between Beauty, Vlogging and Arts. It is truly anyone’s game at this point. That’s going to be it for today’s video, tune in later this week for the next competition.”

Jackson winks, and he cuts the camera off.

He calls everyone into a huddle, debriefing them about the next competition that was to be filmed later that same night. Jackson says it’s going to be a surprise, but he gives them a couple vague instructions to abide by anyway.

Bambam sits exhausted on the sidelines, working his way through all five stages of grief in hyper speed.

“Pain,” he mutters to himself, shivering and rocking back and forth in the cool grass, “Pain is the only constant.” Yugyeom nods sympathetically and pats his knee. 

"I know, Bam, I know. Just let it out." 

He is reluctant to note that his head resting on Yugyeom’s shoulder actually does something to momentarily distract from the pain.

* * *

“A beer pong tournament, really Jackson?!” Jinyoung demands, “You know there are kids who watch your channel right?”

“And it’s never a good thing to shelter your children from the harsh realities of the world, Jinyoungie,” Jackson replies sweetly.

The competition itself isn’t all that eventful, in Bambam's opinion. JB, for all his reservations those months ago, turns out to be a bit of a beer pong beast, sinking cup after cup. Seokjin had to call his ex on speaker phone, it was a whole thing. The beauty team wins, obviously, thanks to their tank, Jinyoung.

However, the unsurprising result of the tournament is that every single soul in the house is well on their way to being hopelessly trashed. Even Jinyoung is thoroughly tipsy by the time filming’s winded down, tearfully flitting from person to person, telling them how beautiful they are and how much they mean to him.

Bambam himself, being on the winning team, is a few steps behind everyone else on the wasted scale, but he feels a pleasant buzz humming through his veins, making him feel looser and more uninhibited than normal.

“You’re lucky I just turned 21 this month, Wang,” Bambam declares flippantly, although he’s not really sure if Jackson was anywhere near his vicinity when he said it.

He does catch sight of Yugyeom sipping his Budweiser guiltily in his peripheral and Bambam belatedly realizes _his_ birthday isn’t until November. Bambam gasps to himself, scandalized. _Ladies and gentleman,_ he thinks tipsily, _we have a criminal in our midst._

At some point Wendy suggests a game of “Never Have I Ever”, and despite the initial round of groans it elicits, the idea seems to catch on. A much smaller group slowly comes together, only about a dozen or so, just the people who are still present of mind enough to string complete sentences together. Poor Bobby is already passed out cold, sprawled out in the entryway of the living room, snoring soundly.

They eventually settle in the garage, fanning out to occupy the plush couches and armchairs littering the space. Bambam ends up squeezed in between Yugyeom and Mark, the former’s large, warm hand resting absentmindedly on Bambam’s thigh. It feels like the younger’s grasp sears through Bambam’s light-washed denim, like there would be a red-hot print left on his tan skin if he checked later.

“Ok, ok,” Jackson says from where he’s smushed up against Jinyoung in a narrow loveseat, the latter looking far less displeased about it than Bambam would’ve thought, “Never Have I Ever... Hmm... Oh, I know! Sabotaged my friend’s relationship on purpose!”

Only Bambam drinks from his lukewarm watermelon-flavored White Claw, and he feels the need to explain himself at the surprised expressions that are thrown in his direction.

“Hey, no, I had to do it. Jinyoung was thinking of hooking up with a Vine star; I would’ve been a bad friend if I _didn’t_ spill my drink on him and demand we leave the party,” Bambam congratulates himself when the words only come out _slightly_ slurred.

Jackson leans in to whisper something into Jinyoung’s ear, and Jinyoung laughs demurely from behind his hand.

“They’re being so obvious,” Yugyeom says softly next to him, and Bambam can’t help but nod in agreement. Bambam would recognize his best friend’s flirting tactics from a mile away. He's just thankful that the whole "I think there's something on the back of my shirt, could you come help me check in the bathroom" routine hasn't been busted out. Not yet, at least. 

The game continues for quite some time, the questions ranging from light to philosophical to suggestive. Mark asks if anyone has ever uploaded a video they regret and every single person in the room takes a swig from their drink. Yugyeom raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.

Bambam shudders. “ _Recreating Iconic Cartoon Character Looks._ People still, to this day, send that image of me dressed up as Kirby at me on Twitter. I think it might outlive me. When I'm long dead and gone, that damn picture of me covered in pink body paint will live on,” he clenches his fist in despair.

Yugyeom cackles and pulls out his phone, “One sec, just setting that as my twitter profile picture.” Bambam whines and pinches Yugyeom’s ruddy cheeks, warm from the alcohol. He’s starting to get an idea of how Jinyoung must feel all the time, and he can’t say he cares for it very much.

“Wait, what about you then, smart ass?” He asks. Yugyeom’s eyes gloss over like he’s having some kind of flashback.

“The squad vlog trip to Magic Mountain. I threw up on the Goliath and Jackson kept it in the video. It was the first time I actually understood what my mom meant when she always tells me _Once it’s on the internet, gyeomie, it’s there forever.”_ He buries his head in his hands.

Ten clears his throat. “Never Have I Ever had sex in public.” A few people drink this time, notably Jaebum, who shrugs nonchalantly.

“I used to go out with a girl who was really into that kind of stuff,” he says airily.

“Yeah, but _where_ was it?” Ten asks impatiently.

“It was backstage at a _Weeknd_ concert, happy?” Jaebum smirks as a few people let out impressed whistles and jeers. To his right, Jinyoung looks thoughtful.

"Ugh," Yugyeom shivers, "Jaebum's like my older brother. It's weird to hear you guys thirst after him."

"Oh, be honest, Yugyeom," Wendy scoffs, "Even _you_ can see JB is a fine piece of man. Don't tell me you've never thought about it." She waggles her eyebrows.

"Woof, I'm getting hot just imagining it," Ten purrs. A few of the girls wolf-whistle some more, and Jackson pretends to fan himself, over-the-top and theatrical. 

"Would you let him take you to a _Weeknd_ concert, gyeomie?" Mark asks, grinning. He elbows Yugyeom's side a few times teasingly, alcohol tempering his usual reserve. 

Yugyeom's queasy face and Jaebum's clenched jaw just feed into the crowd's amusement.

The game rolls onto new targets soon enough, everyone latching onto an embarrassing story about Matthew, Amber, and a misguided barfight, but Yugyeom's slightly sickly expression doesn't clear up. 

"Hey," Bambam whispers, knocking their shoulders together, "You ok?" 

Yugyeom startles a little, before offering a grateful grin. "Yeah. Thanks," he murmurs. But he's still blushing a little. And he scooches a little farther away from Bambam on the couch. 

Alright. Well. That’s something.

“Never Have I Ever hooked up with someone in this room,” Johnny says cheekily. He eagerly searches around to see who drinks. Shit, this was the one question Bambam had been dreading, but nevertheless, he takes a grumpy sip. Lisa, Chris, and Felix all take a drink from their cups as well and the other players clamor for details.

“Don’t laugh,” Lisa starts, choking out the words like it pains her, “But it was Bambam.”

The group explodes into howls of laughter, clutching their sides like Lisa's just said the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. “In my defense, it was when we were both still in high school. Needless to say, we didn’t, ahem, _get_ very far…” Bambam feels the smug aura practically radiating off of Yugyeom, so he crosses his arms testily and steadfastly ignores him.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, shitheads. I know half of you are just jealous that I hit that, while you sit there with a less than zero percent chance." The party-goers _ooooh,_ amazed at the sass of the comeback and Lisa smacks him upside the head. 

"Ow, careful, my brain's in there." Bambam whimpers.

"You could've fooled me," she scoffs. 

“What about you then, Chris?” Johnny presses. Chris’s gaze flicks to Bambam before he can stop himself, and Bambam realizes tonight is the night he dies. The room bursts into noise once again, gasps and chatter filling the space. The other players look around at each other like they can’t believe the juicy caliber of gossip they’re getting out of a high school drinking game.

“Our little Bamie gets around, who _knew?”_ Ten’s words are considerably more slurred than they were at the start of the game, “I didn’t know you had it in you, respect.”

Jinyoung abruptly stands up and stretches lazily. “I’m bored of this game, I think we should have a dance party instead. Does anyone else want to dance?”

He drags Jackson to his feet, and bless the short attention spans of drunk people, because the other influencers get up and follow Jinyoung out of the garage like they’re in daze, game entirely forgotten. The dark-haired man gives Bambam a wink on his way out the door, and all Bambam can do is mouth a grateful _thank you._

Yugyeom is still next to him. “Sooo, you and Chris, huh? I gotta say, I did not see that one coming.” Yugyeom’s voice sounds light, but his posture is rigid and he looks like he would rather be anywhere else in the world but here.

Bambam blushes for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. “Yeah, haha. We didn’t date or anything, we just messed around from time to time. Figured some stuff out together. Things we liked, things we didn’t.” Bambam winces, immediately wishing he could take the words back.

Yugyeom looks so uncomfortable, tucked into the couch beside him, that Bambam wishes he could erase this whole night so far and just sway ( _platonically,_ of course) on the dance floor with Yugyeom instead. He feels bad that Yugyeom has to sit here and listen to the sordid details of Bambam’s rendezvous with his delicate heterosexual ears.

Suddenly, Yugyeom’s making eye contact with him again, his one dangling sliver earring reflecting the dim light of the garage. “And, what was that like?” he asks, his usually bubbly voice ever so slightly strangled. The image of Chris eagerly blowing Bambam on the balcony of his 19th birthday party, sinking deeper and deeper until Bambam was begging for it flashes into his mind, but Bambam doesn’t really think that’s what Yugyeom wants to hear right now.

What he says instead is, “I learned a lot about myself, at least. Things just kinda fizzled out naturally over time. It was a while ago now, the details are getting kind of hazy.”

“I just didn’t peg him as your type, I guess,” Yugyeom says evasively, running a hand through his fluffy hair. Bambam’s noticed the younger does that when he gets nervous, but he can’t imagine why Yugyeom would be nervous.

“He isn’t really. That’s why things didn’t work out, in the end.” Yugyeom hums in understanding.

Yugyeom stands up from the couch and offers Bambam a hand. “I think Jinyoung had the right idea, why don't we go dance?” Bambam looks up at Yugyeom, and the soft fluorescent light hitting Yugyeom’s features makes him look like an angel. An intoxicated, confusing angel that smells like pine wood and chocolate. Bambam takes Yugyeom’s dry, smooth palm and lets himself be dragged along.

* * *

Bambam is _drunk._ Well and truly _gone,_ and he feels great.

The music is deafening in the living room. Bambam moves to the beat of the song, swaying his hips invitingly, shameless about his body in a manner that he usually isn't. He wants someone to dance with him; wants someone to _want_ him, and it shows in the way he moves. He catches Lisa's eye, and her surprised but approving glance doesn't flatter him in the way she might've intended. 

Bambam observes with a frown that he doesn't like to engage in the more sensual side of his sexuality. At least not in public, like he’s afraid he’s going to offend someone. Sure, he’s flamboyant, he does goddamn makeup on the internet for a living for Christ’s sake. But he can’t walk around and own the fact that he’s a breathing, sexual being with wants and desires unless he’s drunk. It's a far cry from the shameless way the guys and girls around him twist together, like they can absorb one another entirely if they just grind hard enough. And god are they trying. Bambam doubts any of them even gave it a second thought, past chasing their own pleasure, and here _he_ is. Philosophizing. 

Bambam suddenly feels paranoid, raw and vulnerable, like someone just has to be staring at him. His movements slow to a halt. He’s sure he makes an odd picture; standing completely still in the middle of the dance floor, as his peers jump and twirl around him with reckless abandon in the neon light.

Deep down, Bambam knows exactly why he feels this way. He’s scared, still. After all this time, he’s still scared that this easy acceptance he’s become so accustomed to since moving to LA will suddenly be revoked, like a rug being yanked out from under him. Taken away, leaving Bambam exposed, because he’s different, and that makes him target. He'll be that scared little boy again, the one who got shoved into the ground because he tried to hold another boy's hand at recess. 

He drags a clammy hand down the side of his face, trying desperately to dispel these suffocating thoughts. Bambam had promised himself a long time ago that he was done with the shame. And, unlike many of his other frivolous promises, this was one he really intended to keep. 

He sees Yugyeom across the room, dancing as wildly and enticingly as the night Bambam first saw him. He’s not dancing with anyone else, but he seems perfectly content to roll to the obscene thrum of the bass all on his own. 

The room starts to spin jarringly, and Bambam decides it’s time to take a break from dancing. He stumbles off of the dance floor, barely making it to the couch before his knees give out from under him. He realizes, too late, that the couch is already occupied, by none other than Chris Bang himself.

Chris looks at him hopefully and scooches over to make room for Bambam. He joins the other reluctantly, sitting up as upright as he can in his current state.

“Hey, Bam. Quite some party, eh?” Chris speaks softly, like someone afraid of scaring off a wild animal.

Bambam sighs. “Hey, Chris. It’s been a while.” _Not by accident_ _,_ is on the tip of his tongue. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been really good, Bamie. Youtube’s Youtube, you know how it is, but I’ve been seeing someone for ages now. It’s Felix, actually,” Chris gestures to where Felix is passed out on the dining room table. “It’s going really well, I like him a lot.”

The smile that makes its way to Bambam’s face surprises him a little, and Bambam can’t find it in himself to be anything but genuinely happy for Chris at the news. Bambam is reminded of the fact that he and Chris were friends long before they ever started hooking up.

“That’s great, Channie,” Chris perks up at the sound of his old nickname, “I’m happy for you, for real.”

“Thanks, Bambam,” Chris breathes, relieved. “Speaking of which, I should probably get him to bed. Let’s hang out sometime, yeah?”

Bambam agrees softly, and Chris gently wakes his boyfriend, helping him up the stairs.

Bambam’s vision zeroes in to where Jackson is sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mostly full PBR. He’s staring forlornly at where Jinyoung and Jaebum are huddled together chatting about god knows what, and Bambam marches over to him.

He collapses into the chair next Jackson, startling the disheveled blond. “Sorry my best friend is a bitch,” Bambam tells him. Jackson’s already naturally round eyes widen and he looks firmly at the floor. “If it makes you feel any better, in my own professional opinion—as the resident Jinyoung expert—I think he’ll come around. Call it a reverse mother's intuition. Cause ya know, he's _my_ mom or whatever.” Jackson ruffles Bambam’s hair affectionately.

"I think," Jackson says wetly, his voice even deeper and more gravely than usual, "I should have been less worried about Jinyoung getting his heart broken, and more worried about him breaking mine." And Bambam feels a little part of his soul die.

Yugyeom is expertly grinding up against a giggling Mina now, and the sight of it turns Bambam’s stomach over, although he tries to smother the feeling. Bambam leans over to lay his head in the perfect space at the juncture of Jackson’s neck and his shoulder. Jackson shifts around so the fit is even more snug, and Bambam exhales a shaky breath.

“And why,” he sounds garbled even to his own ears, “Did Kim Yugyeom have to be straight? Why, God, why did you have to take _that_ one?” 

There's an overturned pizza box on the ground, sauce and cheese smeared across the tiles. Bambam thinks it does a pretty good job of summing up how both of them are feeling at the moment. 

Jackson pulls away to stare at Bambam like he’s grown a second head. “Yugyeom’s tried to make out with me on, like, three separate occasions now. I think that maybe because I’m bi he thinks I’m always down or something, which is so not true and actually really ignorant. I mean, I usually am down most of the time, but it’s not because I’m bisexual, it’s just because I’m horny,” Jackson says, like he hasn’t just shattered Bambam’s entire world.

Bambam swivels around to find Yugyeom in the crowd, this new information shifting and coloring his entire perception in a brand-new light. Bambam finds him quickly enough. Yugyeom’s beautifully sculpted lips are joined to Mina’s, the two of them going at it like the entire world will cease to exist if they stop kissing for even a second.

“Bambam wait—” Jackson’s frantic voice breaks through the roar of sound, but Bambam is already gone.

Bambam prays his trembling legs don’t fail him as he flees up the stairs; one flight, two, then three, until he reaches the fourth floor. Bambam trails his hand along the walls of the hallway, trying to keep the violent spinning of his vision from getting the best of him.

He fumbles with the brass doorknob before he gets it open, stumbling into the room.

“ _Holy shit,_ I’m so sorry! I’ll be going now, just carry on everyone, I was never here,” Lia and Yeji gape up at Bambam from where they’re tangled together on the bed, lips bruised and hair rumpled. Bambam yelps and slams the door shut behind him.

He feels sick. Bambam finally locates the right room; he remembers now that Jinyoung had hung a “No trespassing, proceed at your own risk” sign on the door.

He darts over to the open window. The breeze that rushes in past fluttering curtains helps to cool an overheated Bambam some. He desperately tries to calm his breathing— _in, out, in, out,_ like his mom taught him _._ The suburban night-line shifts under his unsteady gaze, the enormous neighboring homes swirling and distorting into nightmarish silhouettes and Bambam swears he's never drinking again. 

This is even worse than the time he was convinced that Jinyoung was a burglar at their own New Year’s Eve party and he had to dump a pitcher of fruit punch over Bambam's head to cool him off. He curses the day he was born a light-weight. 

Once he’s calmed down, Bambam tries to reason with himself. He’s only this upset because he’s _drunk._ Point blank, period. He should just go to bed, he’ll feel much better in the morning, he tells himself. It’s not his fault boys are confusing.

Bambam clambers into his bed, not bothering to remove his makeup or to take any clothes off. He turns so he’s facing the wall, blocking out everything that isn’t the blank expanse of plaster in front of him. Only once he is settled under the thick quilt covers, drawn up so they cover everything except for his eyes, does Bambam finally allow himself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha whoops lol. Boys really are DUMB, am I right ladies? (and Bambam and Jackson)  
> This one made me sad to write, but aint that life.  
> I'd honestly really appreciate any feedback, anything that you noticed or tips, I'm still trying to improve my writing and this is only my 3rd fic and the longest one by far. So yeah!  
> Hope you liked it, leave a kudos!


	4. In Which Kim Yugyeom gets a run for his money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a dick in this one, so be warned about that lmao

Jinyoung should really consider dyeing his hair, Bambam thinks to himself, toeing the sand with his bare feet. Maybe a nice strawberry red. Or even a simple, bold blonde, he thinks would highlight Jinyoung’s classic features, elevating him from merely gorgeous to an ethereal-level beauty. His hands itch for a chance to slather bleach on the pristine locks. And then he would have matching couple hair with Jackson and Bambam would take a million pictures and never shut up about it.

It’s a beautiful day out. They’re standing on the shoreline of Santa Monica beach, no cameras with them, just scoping the area out for possible future filming. It had been an unnaturally quiet morning; everyone had woken up slowly, mortified to observe the wreckage around them as the shameful memories of the previous night flooded back to them.

Jackson’s manager took on the unenviable task of corralling a horde of hung-over young adults out of the trashed mansion and into a squad of vehicles to shuttle them over to the next shooting location. A week and half of filming still lays ahead of them. _Beach Week,_ Bambam remembers Jackson animatedly informing him back when he first pitched the idea over that fateful facetime call.

Yugyeom stands next to him, a bright yellow bandana pulling back his unruly hair to expose a rare sighting of forehead and a loose, floral-print button up with a few too many buttons undone exposing the pale curve of his clavicle. The khaki shorts he’s wearing show off the nice swell of his calves and Bambam has to admit he’s a fan of this beach-chic version of Yugyeom.

Yugyeom’s being oddly coy today, too, eyes constantly darting back and forth between the ocean and Bambam. “Last night got pretty crazy, huh?” he says finally. _Understatement of the century,_ Bambam thinks but nods along anyway.

“I think I’m still trying to piece it all together,” Yugyeom presses on, “Do you, uh, remember anything weird happening?

Bambam squints at him through his own dark, circle rimmed sunglasses. He concentrates on recalling the events of last night, but truth be told, everything after Johnny’s story about getting arrested at a Red Robin’s was pretty much a blur.

“I think I remember Jackson telling me about how horny he was, but that’s about it,” Bambam answers thoughtfully.

“Are we okay, Bambam?” The taller boy unexpectedly bursts out, “I mean, I kinda feel really shitty after last night. So, I was just wondering, are we still cool and everything?” Bambam blinks, taken aback.

He reaches up to push his sunglasses up and look him in the eye. “Yeah, Yugyeom, I’m sure whatever happened last night wasn’t anything super serious anyway. _Everyone_ was trashed. I wouldn’t hold anything like that against you, I promise.” Bambam smiles reassuringly, using his best ‘supportive friend’ voice. It’s a little rusty due to the fact Jinyoung is usually the only friend Bambam keeps around, and lord knows that man didn't need any more encouragement than what he already gave himself.

Yugyeom pouts a little, not looking quite convinced, but he seems to accept the reassurance for now.

In the same breath, Jinyoung appears at his shoulder, like the little devil who's supposed to get you to do things you'll regret and sway you to the dark side. But in this case, Bambam's shoulder devil usually just calls him an idiot when he leaves the milk out overnight. 

“Jaebum’s been ignoring me,” he says.

“What, no he hasn’t. Don’t be ridiculous,” Bambam snorts, “Side note: have you ever considered going blond, hyung?” Bambam grabs a piece of Jinyoung’s fringe and lifts it up to inspect in the sunlight.

Jinyoung sneers at him, “ _No,_ I haven’t, I don’t want to rot my brain with hair dye like you two morons clearly have. And _yes_ he is, you have to trust me on this.”

“I’ll get you eventually, Park Jinyoung,” Bambam mutters to himself and Yugyeom glances at him suspiciously out the corner of his eye.

“Alright, if you’re so sure, why don't we conduct a little experiment? Hey JB, could you come over here for a second—”

“ _Shut it, you piece of shit,_ oh my god you can’t be serious—" Jinyoung scrambles to slap a hand over Bambam’s mouth but the damage is already done.

Jaebum lowers his Nikon, pausing from where he was taking pictures of the towering palm trees, and slowly makes his way over to the spot the trio is congregated.

“What’s up Bambam? Did you guys need something?” JB is pointedly _not_ looking at Jinyoung, bouncing between Yugyeom and Bambam instead.

Bambam searches deliriously for an excuse to have called the unimpressed singer over. Spontaneity was a bitch sometimes.

“Umm, Jinyoung here was just suggesting that we get a _photo_ of the three of us,” he snaps his fingers triumphantly and Yugyeom nods vigorously, “ _Yes_! A picture, isn’t that right Jinyoungie?”

Bambam nudges a frozen Jinyoung, spurring him into action.

“Oh, yeah, I was just saying that it would be nice to have some memories of this entire crazy thing, to look back on. It almost feels like a dream. Maybe a photograph would help make it seem a little more concrete, don’t you think?” Jinyoung’s eyes shine hopefully as he awaits JB’s response.

Jaebum grunts shortly, and Bambam assumes that was him agreeing, because he lifts his camera so he can line them up inside the viewfinder.

Bambam, Jinyoung, and Yugyeom exchange hasty glances before they settle into a variety of poses as Jaebum snaps rapid shots of them, the flash of the camera causing Bambam’s vision to white out momentarily. Bambam smashes his face next to Yugyeom’s and grins brightly, the two of them throwing up matching peace signs. Bambam detects a hint of JB’s subtle smile from behind the shape of the camera.

“Oooh, I have a feeling those turned out really good,” Bambam gushes, “You have to send those to me, Jaebum.” JB rises from his crouched position, his expression all business once again.

He steals one conspicuous peek at Jinyoung before he moves to leave.

“Sure thing, Bambam. See you later,” he says over his shoulder. Soon enough, he’s halfway down the beach, caught up in photographing the flock of seagulls gliding overhead.

Jinyoung crosses his arms. “Ok, you may have had a point about him avoiding you,” Bambam concedes.

Jinyoung nervously tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear, a ridiculous habit he formed years ago that Bambam enjoys far too much to ever point out to the other.

“I think I may have freaked him out last night,” Jinyoung wrinkles his nose.

Bambam groans. “Lead with that next time, dumbass.” Jinyoung flicks him between the eyes, _hard._

“I am still your elder, Bambam,” he hisses, “And I don’t think your mother would appreciate hearing her son use that kind of language, shall I give her a call—”

“Just get on with the story please!” Yugyeom cuts him off, and Jinyoung glares at him too, but he opens his mouth to continue.

“I think we almost kissed last night,” Bambam feels his own eyes widen in surprise and he hunches forward to listen intently, “We were sitting out by the pool, and he was talking about how he hasn’t dated anyone in a while and how he much he misses being a boyfriend. And there I was, thinking this was a perfect chance for me to make a move, so I lean in and Jaebum flinches back so hard that he falls straight into the pool.”

Yugyeom squawks with laughter, and Bambam decides to be a good friend for once and comfort Jinyoung, running a soothing hand across his back as the make-up artist groans.

“I’m sorry,” Yugyeom says through tears, “I’m laughing at JB, not you, I promise.” Jinyoung kicks at Yugyeom’s shins, and the tall boy scurries out of reach, giggling.

Jinyoung takes a deep breath. “So I say to him; Are you even attracted to me, Jaebum? Can you please explain this whole game you’re playing here, cause I’m not sure I want to be apart of it anymore.”

Bambam gasps, impressed. “And what did he have to say?” Jinyoung shakes his head mutely.

“He just sat there, floating in the water, gawking up at me with that stupid expression on his face. He couldn’t say a goddamn thing.” Bambam feels the venom dripping from Jinyoung’s words pierce his gut.

“How desperately-closeted-fraternity-pledge of him,” Bambam offers, cringing sympathetically.

Lurking off in the background, Yugyeom is grimacing so strongly, you’d think he just swallowed an entire lemon whole.

“I was _so_ drunk. You know, I never would have said any of those things sober, but now that I did, I don’t regret them in the slightest.” Jinyoung gulps in a breath, “He couldn’t even admit to himself that he likes me, Bambam…”

Jinyoung sinks down to the sand, hugging his knees to his chest.

Bambam follows him down, reaching out to grab his arm. “Hey. I’m proud of you hyung, for standing up for yourself. I never thought I’d live to see a Jinyoung with self-respect, but here we are. Will wonders never cease?” Jinyoung sniffles and laughs in spite of himself.

“You’re very strong, Jinyoung. Jae’s one of best my bros, but he’s also an idiot if he can’t see that.” Jinyoung’s surprise shows plainly on his face at Yugyeom’s praise, but he recovers quickly.

“Thank you, Yugyeom-ah. That’s very kind of you to say,” he says in a soft, motherly tone, the one he rarely ever uses with Bambam. Probably because Bambam hardly stops harassing Jinyoung long enough for the elder to remember that he actually likes him, deep, _deep_ down inside.

“Does this mean I have to start calling you hyung now?” Yugyeom contemplates, “I know how strict us Koreans are with the whole age hierarchy thing, but I think it’s kind of dumb. One time my older cousin smacked me across the forehead because I asked him to pass the fried rice without using honorifics.”

Jinyoung mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like “ _whitewashed”_ and “ _uncultured punk”._ He sits back to rest his weight on his hands, sighing like he’s aged twenty years in the last thirty seconds.

"Honestly, I just call him that ‘cause he gets cranky if I don’t,” Bambam stage whispers, shrugging as if to say _I’m Thai, I don’t even go here._

Yugyeom taps his temple. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he whisper-yells back, easily adopting Bambam’s air of conspiracy.

“I should’ve known,” Jinyoung says, up into the sky, “That the universe would somehow find a way to saddle me with another insubordinate little brat.”

Yugyeom and Bambam cackle and collapse into the warm sand, the sounds of Jinyoung’s anguish serving only to fuel their amusement.

* * *

“Oh c’mon, there’s no way we’re going to come all the way to Santa Monica and _not_ do a wet t-shirt contest,” Jackson shouts, exasperated, “What are we, amateurs?”

“You are going to get us kicked off of this beach, Jackson,” Amber scolds him angrily, but from a quick glance around, Bambam’s rapidly realizing she might be part of the vocal minority. Jackson dismisses her.

“It will be totally voluntary, _of course._ And it won’t count for points or anything, just bonus content. We can do it right here outside of our bungalow, I’ll start running the hose right now.” He hits her with the biggest weapon he has up his sleeve; The Jackson Wang pout. “Amber, please, it would be a loss of epic proportions if this content isn't shared with the public.”

Amber looks around at her fellow Youtubers, the majority of them looking like they’re down to start stripping that very instance, and she acquiesces.

“Fine, but only if I get to be one of the judges,” she relents, and Jackson screeches gleefully, “I’m going to roast your ass so hard.”

“Girls can participate too, right?” Momo abruptly speaks up, lifting a challenging eyebrow.

Jackson puts his hands over his heart, affronted. “Of _course,_ ” he answers, earnestness dripping from his every word, “This is an equal opportunity space, always and forever.” Momo’s smile is feral, and Bambam shivers and says a prayer for all the female-inclined individuals in the audience.

After a brief, hectic scramble, a table and three piles of scoring cards are scrounged up.

“Do I even want to know where you got that many white shirts?” Mark asks dryly.

“A boy scout is always prepared, how many times do I have to remind you, Mark?” Jackson responds crossly. Bambam imagines what a cute boy scout baby Jackson would have been, zealously collecting badges in that adorable little uniform.

Amber, Seokjin, and Mark Lee end up at the make-shift judges table. The youngest of the three is bullied into the position by his peers; the awkward Canadian plus a few shamelessly shirtless girls and guys was a recipe for the best kind of disaster, and they had a show to run here, after all. Conversely, Mark Tuan mans the camera. He firmly refusing to participate in the contest in any other manner.

Everyone agrees that Jackson should have to go first. It was his idea after all, and the Chinese man accepts his role as the sacrificial lamb without a single protest. Someone fumbles with the aux cord and then _Careless Whisper_ is suddenly blasting out into the previously calm beach air.

Jackson grins wickedly and starts to body roll to the cheesy saxophone melody. It reminds Bambam of one of the stupid things Jackson always says—" _Jackson means passion in Cantonese, you know?"_ Which is objectively untrue, obviously, but the power of Jackson's hip thrusts is actually making a pretty good case for it at the moment. Bambam brings a hand up to his mouth and whistles loudly through his teeth, to which Jackson’s grin grows even wider and points enthusiastically to Bam in the crowd.

Jungkook, who volunteered to man the hose, suddenly blasts Jackson with a powerful stream of water and Jackson yelps; from the shock or the temperature, it’s impossible to tell.

He rebounds quickly though, dropping to the floor, pulling up his now see-through t-shirt to show off his honey-toned abs. Jackson catches the fabric and holds it in between his teeth, running his hands up and down his golden skin as he grows progressively wetter and wetter.

The responding screams are a hair too breathless to simply be the cheers from a crowd of supportive friends.

Jackson finishes his impromptu routine and jumps to his feet, shaking out the soaked hair plastered to his forehead like a wet dog. His blinding beam betrays how pleased he is with himself.

Seokjin shuffles though his cards and holds up a 9. “Those abs don’t lie, sweetheart.” Jackson, in a predictable and charmingly Jackson-like manner, shrieks while the others clap along.

Amber clears her throat, “Even though I wish I could pull my eyeballs out of my skull after that, I can still recognize a good show when I see one,” she says, flashing a 6.

Mark Lee claps his hands together and holds up an 8. “Very sick, Jackson,” he smiles clumsily.

A few more people take their turns. Rosé does a brief number to Miley Cyrus’s _Wrecking Ball,_ a performance consisting mostly of giggling and unsexy wiggling that’s more funny than anything else. Kai, the menace he is, rips apart his flimsy white t-shirt during his go around. Yugyeom slides over from his spot a few people away and comments lowly to Bambam, “I’m not even sure if they’ll allow this kind of footage to be uploaded onto YouTube. Jackson’s going to get demonetized for sure,” and Bambam’s inclined to agree.

"Kai should come with a NC-17 rating every time he steps foot out of the house," Bambam retorts, raptly watching as the dancer takes a seat on the curb, body heaving and completely topless now.

Lia and Yeji do an interpretive dance, dramatically twisting and twirling around together, sending sprays of water in every direction. It’s surprisingly beautiful. They earn perfect 10’s across the board, and as they exit the center of the circle, Bambam accidentally makes eye contact with Yeji. Embarrassment washes over him as the events of last night come rushing back to him, but Yeji just winks and raises up her and Lia’s intertwined hands and Bambam’s face splits open in an amazed grin. _No way._

He wonders to himself how many people Jackson’s damned Youtuber Olympics, of all things, has gotten laid so far. 

Bambam notices that all the commotion has attracted an impressive number of spectators from the board walk nearby. Even in the distance, people stand on rocks and peer over the side of the pier, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the action. Cameras flash, and, once again, Jackson's marketing genius comes into sharp focus. 

_You know what_ , Bambam thinks, suddenly filled with conviction, _I want in on this_.

He forces his way to the middle, and the crowd parts around him in astonishment, but their enthusiasm returns in double the force once they realize what they’re in for. The reality of what he’s just done doesn’t hit him until the beginning of Rihanna’s _S &M _is blaring in Bambam’s ears and he’s staring down the front of Jungkook’s hose.

Okay! No need to panic! This was all just part of him taking control of his own narrative. He could be a sexy confident man in front of all his friends and colleagues. No problem. Bambam pumps his chest to the beat and the crowd squeals, titillated.

And Bambam was sexy, goddammit. He wasn’t that chubby-faced awkward teenager anymore, no matter what his own brain was trying to tell him. He had long legs that always earned him compliments and a jawline that could cut glass, _thank you very much._

Jungkook finally sprays him and Bambam can’t help but squeak, “ _Oh shit_ that really is cold!”

He runs a tongue over his plump lips, clearing away the water, and he hears a few raunchy whistles in response.

Bambam has always been a master of knowing his angles. He started young, and countless hours spent staring in the mirror perfecting and experimenting with makeup only strengthened the skill. He’s also watched like every season of America’s Next Top Model, and that definitely helps too. 

So, letting Rihanna’s sultry voice wash over him, Bambam winks, smizes and hits his poses. Based on the reaction from the crowd, he thinks maybe all those hours of practice have finally payed off. 

“Get it, Kunpimook!” he hears Lisa call from somewhere.

Encouraged, he drops to the ground, the gravel digging roughly into his shoulders but he doesn’t care—he feels high on the sounds of applause. He trails a feather-light hand teasingly down his torso and he thrusts upward like there’s something more than just air to thrust into.

The screams are deafening. Jinyoung bursts through to the front, hauling Bambam off of the ground.

Seokjin pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “My baby is all grown up. I’ve taught you well.” He raises up a 9, and Bambam is embarrassed of how proud he feels.

“I don’t even want to know where you learned how to do that, Bambam, all I know is I’m giving you an 8.” Amber says, nearly drowned out at towards the end by the roar of the crowd.

Mark Lee dimples at Bambam from behind the judging table, arms folded neatly in front of him. “That was really cool, Bambam. I’m going have to say a 10.”

Bambam stumbles back into the throng of people, Johnny and Matthew vigorously pounding him on the back. He shivers, cold and damp in his clingy wet t-shirt, but he’s grinning so hard he almost doesn’t care.

As much Bambam loves to joke around and be joked about in return, he can’t express how good it feels to have people see him differently. They cheered just because they thought he was hot, and it made him feel _powerful._ It’s possible Jackson has been onto something all along, with his exhibitionism and the whole “wild and sexy” gimmick. 

Jackson, from where he’s been standing towards the front with a microphone mc-ing the contest, tries to beckon Yugyeom forth. “Let’s go, Yugyeom Kim, our resident dancing machine! Get up here!” Jackson booms into the mic.

But Yugyeom, cheeks cherry red, shakes his head vehemently, holding his hands out like he’s bracing for an impact. Jackson senses his discomfort and immediately drops the issue. Bambam can’t help but be perplexed at what has Yugyeom too shy to go into the middle of a dance circle all of the sudden. The very first time Bambam ever laid eyes on the vlogger, he had been getting intimately acquainted with Jackson’s living room carpet without a single scrap of shame.

“Alright, folks,” Jackson shouts, and Bambam recoils at the volume, “We need one more brave soul to bring us home. Who’s it going to be?”

A lithe figure makes their way forward, and Bambam blinks rapidly, rubbing his eyes to make sure what he's seeing is really happening.

“Jinyoung, you know this is being recorded, right?!” he cries out, not even really joking.

Jinyoung flashes him his middle finger. His jaw is clenched in determination, and Bambam is frightened to note that he has never seen such a thirst for blood in Jinyoung’s eyes.

“Spray me, Jungkook,” Jinyoung grits out, and Jungkook nervously complies. Bambam would find it funny how scared the wider, more ripped man seems to be of delicate-looking Jinyoung, if he wasn't already busy shitting his pants.

It’s unfair how good Jinyoung looks even soaking wet.

“Alright guys, our very own Jinyoungie is going to show us what he’s got, prepare yourselves,” Jackson exclaims good-naturedly, and it’s like a switch flips inside of Jinyoung.

His eyes instantly shutter close, and when he opens them, they’re soft and seductive, instead of actively plotting a homicide. Jinyoung grinds backwards in a move Bambam can only classify as a revenge twerk.

Bambam would like to say that he’s never noticed his best friend’s ass before, but that’s pretty much an impossible task when his best friend is Park Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung’s ass is a force of nature, and it’s existence has had real, tangible consequences in their lives. Bambam would actually be at a strategic disadvantage if he tried to ignore it, and right now is no exception. 

It’s clear, to him at least, that the way Jinyoung’s dancing is motivated by pure spite. Every movement of his body screams _“this is what you’re missing out on; you could’ve had all this, but you blew it”_ and Bambam is _living_ for it.

Bambam finds Jaebum in the rush of people, and he watches him choke down a painful-looking swallow.

Jinyoung moves to tweak his already-visible nipples when Bambam feels Matthew’s large hand close over his eyes to block his vision, and he is intensely grateful.

All he knows is whatever Jinyoung is doing right now is eliciting the loudest cheers of the day so far. Bambam covers Matthew’s hand with his own, just for an extra layer of protection.

When Bambam’s vision returns, Seokjin is already proudly waving a 10. “Mark me down as scared _and_ horny!”

“You may have to cut this part out of the video, Jackson,” Amber says, but she holds up a 10 nevertheless.

Mark Lee is face down on the table, but Bambam can see the raging blush all the way from where he’s standing.

“You broke Mark,” Amber squints accusatorily in Jinyoung's direction.

Without lifting his head, Mark wordlessly raises up a 10. His muffled scream signals the end of the contest. The crowd breaks out into one final applause, thoroughly satiated.

“Well, that got a little out of hand,” Jackson accidentally mutters, stunned, into the microphone. A bit of feedback squeals back.

Mark Tuan helpfully tosses him a water bottle. "Here, looks like you need this." It hits Jackson squarely in the chest, rolling dejectedly onto the gravel. 

Jinyoung runs a hand through his soaking hair, sending the blond a wink over his shoulder, and no one is surprised when Jackson joins his water bottle on the ground.

* * *

**Yugyeomie~**

We really need to talk

Five words that would strike fear into the heart of any mortal being upon hearing them. Every bad thing he has ever done suddenly flickers through Bambam’s mind and he wonders desperately how Yugyeom could’ve possibly found out about the time Bambam got iced coffee on Lisa’s favorite blouse in 11th grade and blamed it on Helen Cho.

Bambam paces nervously back and forth across the length of his beach bungalow as he awaits his judgement day.

The door swings open and there’s Yugyeom, his hair slightly damp from the contest earlier, chest rising and falling rapidly like he ran all the way here. Bambam crosses and then uncrosses his legs awkwardly, before spreading his arms in a grand sweeping gesture.

“Hellooo there. Welcome to my humble abode—”

“I need to tell you something, Bambam.” Yugyeom interrupts him, his voice trembling.

Bambam blinks in shock. “Yugyeom, you’re shaking. Come sit down.” Bambam guides the distraught boy to the dresser and starts to rummage through the drawers.

Yugyeom looks dazed. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly.

“I’m going to do your makeup,” Bambam replies, shuffling through his piles of eyeshadow palettes, “When I was little and I would get really upset, my mom would always do my makeup to help calm me down. Luckily for you, I happened to have an extra foundation in here that I think will be your color.”

Bambam pulls up a chair and helps Yugyeom pull a white kitten-shaped headband over his head to keep the hair out of his face. “Whenever you’re ready, Gyeom,” he whispers, and begins to brush lightly over the contours of his face.

“I just… I’ve been so confused lately. I feel like I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about it, trying to figure all this stuff out.” Bambam nods encouragingly, focused on dabbing little spots of concealer under Yugyeom’s eyes.

“And I didn’t even mean to kiss Mina last night, I was just trying so hard to distract myself—”

“Wait, you did what now—”

“But what I’m trying to say is that I think I maybe like guys?” Yugyeom’s eyes well up as the words spill out. Bambam does his best not to panic at the sight of a weeping Yugyeom, and he tries to ignore the way his heart positively pounds in his chest at the confession.

He brushes the tears away. “It’s okay, Yugyeom. It’s okay to say it out loud. You’re going to be alright. Just breathe.”

Bambam gives Yugyeom a second to compose himself. He rummages around before revealing a compact of highlighter and starts to swipe it onto Yugyeom’s high cheekbones.

“Let’s just talk through this, okay darling? Let me ask a couple of questions that might help you feel a little less confused.” Yugyeom nods timidly. “Have you ever had a crush on a guy before?”

“I mean, maybe? I think there might have been a few guys that I was probably a little _too_ eager to impress in the past… Maybe thought about the way they looked or their muscles a little too often, but at the time I just thought that I wanted to be like them or something. I thought everyone did that!” Yugyeom’s voice rises in pitch towards the end, making it seem more like a question than a flat-out statement.

 _Oof,_ things are not looking good on the _Yugyeom’s straight_ defense, he thinks to himself. Bambam dabs the beauty blender lightly across his skin as he gets ready to prime his eyes.

“Right, of course,” Bambam says reassuringly, “Close your eyes for me, I’m going to start doing your eyeshadow and liner,” Yugyeom’s eyes flutter close, “Thank you. Okay tell me this; what is it about men that makes you think you may be attracted to them?”

Yugyeom furrows his eyebrows.

“Hey, quit it,” Bambam reprimands faintly, “I don’t need these wrinkles when I’m trying to make you look good over here.” Yugyeom laughs quietly, despite himself, and he relaxes.

“Um, I like the way they smell I guess?” _A very gay answer,_ Bambam thinks but decidedly does not say, “I guess I generally like the look of short hair. And shoulders. I’m pretty sure I’m a big fan of shoulders,” Yugyeom bites his lip and trails off.

“Alright, earth to Yugyeom, put your shoulder fetish on the shelf for a moment. Last question, but it’s an important one; do you think you could ever see yourself in a romantic relationship with a man?”

Bambam latches a firm hand onto Yugyeom’s cheek so he can etch out a sharp wing into the crease of his skin.

Yugyeom’s eyes shine, glancing up at Bambam from underneath his lashes. “I think so,” he whispers; Bambam tries valiantly to not let his imagination get the best of him. “And I don’t want to pretend otherwise anymore.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, thick with emotion, and Bambam’s heart swells with pride.

For a fleeting moment, he thinks about JB, and his whole tragic situation with Jinyoung. He wonders if watching it unfold affected Yugyeom's decision at all. Did Yugyeom see himself reflected in his friend? Did he not like what he saw there? It's not that big of a leap to conclude, but something about it still surprises Bambam. He doesn't know if he'd be self-aware enough to see it if he were in the same position, and his admiration for Yugyeom continues to kindle and grow, warm at the base of his stomach. 

"I don't want to fuck Jaebum, by the way," Yugyeom blurts out.

Bambam can't do anything but laugh. Okay, so it's possible that Yugyeom and Bambam were not on exactly the same wavelength about JB. But Bambam's sure it had some kind of impact on him, nonetheless.

"Just in case you were wondering... about last night," Yugyeom cringes, trying to clarify. 

Bambam only even _half_ -remembers a conversation about that topic, but he decides to spare Yugyeom any further embarrassment and not to mention it. 

"Okay," he agrees easily. "I'm sure Jinyoung wishes he could say the same."

The two share a quick, much-needed laugh at their friend's expense. He's sure Jinyoung wouldn't mind.

“So, what’s the diagnosis, Doctor?” Yugyeom asks shyly, his voice still rough from crying but already sounding lighter. Bambam sits back to admire his handiwork.

Yugyeom blinks back at him, the bronze, smokey color on his eyes shimmering disarmingly and the dark, pointed liner accentuating the already feminine, cat-like shape of his eyes. Bambam adds just a touch of highlighter to the tip of Yugyeom’s elegantly straight nose ( _God,_ Bambam thinks, _he just has the cutest nose),_ and spins him around so he can see himself in the mirror.

“Well, you look beautiful, Yugyeom.” Not handsome, not sexy, just beautiful, and it feels like a turning point. It says everything Bambam doesn’t know how to; _it’s okay to be_ you _now, Yugyeom. Not whatever you felt like you had to be before. Just you._

Yugyeom’s already artificially rosy cheeks go a little darker at that, as he considers his reflection with a quiet expression of wonder.

“Thank you for confiding in me Yugyeom,” Bambam says, more genuine than he's ever been about anything, “You are so, _so_ —and I cannot stress this enough—so brave for even acknowledging it out loud. Obviously you can always come talk to be me about it, or anything really, whenever you feel like it. People say I’m something of an expert on the subject.” Bambam’s leer is over-the-top, designed to draw a laugh out of his friend, which it does.

Yugyeom opens his mouth to speak, a _thank you_ already halfway out before Bambam shushes him.

“You don’t need to thank me, Gyeomie. I’m just reacting like any good friend would. You don’t have to be grateful to me for doing the bare minimum,” Bambam rolls his eyes, “However, I am also the _best_ friend anyone could possibly have, so I got your back, bitch. Maybe you can thank me sometime down the road, when I beat up stupid straight guys who try to start shit for you.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Yugyeom deadpans, but he can’t stop the small smile that creeps through.

“Let’s go, Jackson texted me 10 minutes ago that he ordered pizza to his cabin and everyone’s over there playing _Cards Against Humanity,”_ Bambam says, dusting the rogue powder off of his obscenely expensive designer trousers.

Somehow, Yugyeom’s hand finds it way into Bambam’s once again, and it feels different now. In just what kind of way, Bambam isn’t sure yet.

“Oh, and Yugyeom?” The man next to him looks at him with big, expectant eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

And for once it’s Yugyeom’s turn to whine in embarrassment, flustered as they dash out the door, still hand in hand.

 _Oh yeah,_ Bambam muses, a million new jokes already forming in his head, _this is going to be interesting._

* * *

One perk of making the move over from the mansion to the beach is the change in the living situation.

The twenty-five of them are spread out now, into tiny cabin-like beach houses, instead of being crammed into the same tight, albeit lavish space. It gives Bambam the opportunity to catch up on some _much_ -needed alone time, having his own room.

He’s lying on the luxurious king bed, one hand resting idly atop the flat plane of his stomach, staring up at the pastel sea-shell print of the ceiling.

And, contrary to what might be popular belief, Bambam isn’t stupid.

He is very aware of the distinct possibility that the “boys” Yugyeom was attracted to were actually Bambam all along. That the powerful wave of gay panic that led to him coming out was triggered by _him,_ somehow. It still feels almost impossible.

Bambam steals a glimpse at the vacant stool Yugyeom had occupied just hours before.

The most important thing for Bambam to keep in the forefront of his mind, even as the game shifts around them yet again, is Yugyeom’s still figuring things out.

And now he was looking to Bambam as a figure of guidance; someone he can rely on to give advice and be a shelter during one of the most confusing periods that could ever happen in a person’s life. He would not use his influence to pressure his friend into anything he wasn’t comfortable with.

 _Careful, careful, careful._ That’s what Bambam would always be, when it came to Yugyeom.

So, the ball was firmly in Yugyeom’s court and it would remain there for the time being. No matter _how_ much he wanted to get into Yugyeom’s pants. _However._

Bambam’s hand has migrated down to the front of his jeans without him realizing it. He gulps.

He grips himself tightly through the fabric for a tense, guilty moment. Nervous.

Finally, his resolve breaks, and he jams the hand down his pants.

Because in spite of it all—all of that very sound and persuasive reasoning—Bambam still can’t help but lay here and touch himself and think of Yugyeom.

He wonders if Yugyeom’s done this since the games started, if he’s thought of Bambam when he does it. Bambam groans, teasing the head of his cock tortuously slow. The touch borders on the edge of painful, so he pulls the hand out to coat it in his saliva.

The glide is much smoother now, the sound of it loud and obvious in the quiet of the room and Bambam can’t stop the embarrassed moan it startles out of him. He remembers the time Yugyeom had teased Bambam, right before he disappeared off into the bathroom. He must have gotten off in there—Bambam is suddenly convinced of it. The speed of his strokes reflexively increases, and he can’t believe he’s really doing this.

What did Yugyeom think about? Did he imagine Bambam, under the scalding stream of the shower?

Maybe he thought about Bambam joining him, sliding down to his knees with wide, adoring eyes. Bambam would’ve, he admits to himself. Even back then. He would’ve, if Yugyeom had asked him.

God, he’s so wet now. There’s a damp spot spreading over the front seam of his pants, and he screws his eyes shut and loses himself in the feeling.

Bambam would love to get his mouth on Yugyeom’s cock. He’d let Yugyeom thrust up into him until he was choking and crying, tears running down his face, indistinguishable from the drops of the shower, just to hear the little noises he would make.

He can’t help but wonder what it looks like; the shape of it, the feel. He thinks it would be delicate and pretty, just like Yugyeom, begging for Bambam to get a hand on it.

Bambam whines low in his throat, and his hips jump involuntarily. Frantically, he shoves his tight jeans and briefs down the length of his legs until his lower half is completely bare.

He scrabbles around in the bedside drawer, hands eventually seizing victoriously around a half-empty bottle of lube. He drizzles a generous amount across his digits and flops back onto the bed.

He nervously prods a finger at his entrance, and he wills himself to relax. He imagines what it would be like if Yugyeom was here, if it were his fingers instead of Bambam’s. What would be in Yugyeom’s eyes as he watched his own fingers disappear in and out of Bambam? Apprehension? Fascination? Guilt?

God, Bambam hopes the only thing he would find in Yugyeom’s eyes is pure want, hungry and eager. The initial burn starts to give way into a familiar pleasurable thrum.

An image of Yugyeom doing this very thing to himself materializes in Bambam’s mind, and he flushes from head to toe. Yugyeom, spread out on the mattress, impatiently working his long, beautiful fingers inside himself. Bambam can almost hear the whimpers that would escape out of his lovely mouth. Bambam would have kissed those perfect lips raw by now—they’d be bitten and swollen and delectable, still.

The wet, sticky gasp that Bambam lets out as his fingers brush against his prostate is so loud he worries Jinyoung might have heard him next door. His mind burns, heady with images. Moles, hands, neck, curls. Basically every feature of Yugyeom's that spurred a less-than-platonic thought on Bambam's part, flooding back up with full strength after being pushed down so forcefully. He feels his orgasm building up from the pit of his stomach, molten, but he grips the base of his cock punishingly to keep it at bay. The muscles in his stomach jump and strain from the effort of it.

Yugyeom would make him wait for it.

Duck forward to whisper into Bambam’s ear, exactly like all those times he’s done before. “ _You don’t get to cum until I say so_ , _Bamie,_ ” he’d say, “ _Go on. Beg for it.”_

It’s that thought that sends him plummeting over the edge. He smothers a hand over his mouth to muffle the force of his moans as his orgasm rips through him. His thighs tremble as he releases in a hot, sticky mess onto his stomach.

Yugyeom would be close behind him, in the little fantasy that Bambam’s created. He’d whine and pant as he comes undone, every teenager's wet dream come to life, and once he finishes, Bambam would lick him clean with his tongue.

He’d collapse back onto the bed next to Bambam, and his familiar hand would work its way into Bambam’s, soft and satisfied.

Bambam cracks his eyes open finally, and he finds the sea-shells staring back at him.

_Shit._

* * *

It’s 8PM and Jackson is watching _Sex Education_ on Netflix and applying a cucumber face mask when he hears a knock on his front door.

When he finally musters up the will to drag himself out of bed, it’s Jinyoung’s handsome face that greets him on the other side of the entrance.

“Jinyoungie, what—”

“I’ve been an idiot,” Jinyoung interjects, “A giant, colossal idiot. I’ve been the biggest dumbass on the face of the planet, Jackson.”

Jackson furrows his eyebrows. “What’s this about, Jinyoung?” There; better to get it all out and be done with it, he thinks to himself.

Jinyoung takes a breath. “I really like you Jackson. And I was too busy chasing some stupid pipe dream to see what was right in front of me the entire time.” Jinyoung’s laugh is pained and rueful.

Everything in Jackson’s brain slows down, paralyzed in its tracks at the confession. But he doesn’t allow himself to lower his defenses. Not just yet.

He sighs tightly. “You know you really hurt me, right? I felt like you were playing with my feelings, Jinyoungie. Do you _really_ like me, or did you like the attention I gave you?” He asks, flat, making sure to project just how worn down he really is.

Jackson guards his heart defensively inside of his chest, wary of the risk that is offering it to Jinyoung again. But the other half of him is screaming for him to just hand everything over—his affections, his secrets and all, the consequences be damned. 

Jinyoung closes his eyes tightly, like the words are killing him.

“Jackson-ah. I’m so sorry,” he reaches out to take his hand, and Jackson lets him, “I _know_ this isn’t an excuse, but I don’t really do this kind of thing. Getting tied down's never been my style. I’m more the type to do a one-night stand and forget your name when you try to come up to me at the bar the next weekend. But god, Jackson, you make me want to try. You make me want so much it scares me,” Jinyoung is looking at him with an unbearable intensity, like he can transmit every thought and emotion running through his head directly into Jackson’s if he just tries hard enough.

Jackson runs a thumb gently over Jinyoung’s hand but he can’t stand to meet the other’s eyes. “But Jinyoung, how do I know I’m not just your second choice? That I’m not just the one you’re settling for?”

Jinyoung’s laugh is breathless, astonished, like it’s been shocked out of him. “Because you’re _you,_ Jackson,” He answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Jackson feels a careful hand at his chin, and he’s made to meet Jinyoung’s gaze. “You are one of a kind,” his eyes are crinkled around the corners in a way that’s so _Jinyoung_ it makes his head hurt, “You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met… don’t tell Bambam I said that, he’ll actually get mad.” Jackson laughs despite himself.

Jinyoung barrels on, clearly just getting warmed up, “You go out of your way to make sure every one on set always feels comfortable and welcomed. You’re _obsessed_ with organic green tea, you swear up and down that you can’t sing for shit but your voice is good enough to be on a platinum record, and anyone in the entire world would be lucky to have you.”

Jackson is floored.

He was so ready to accept his role as the funny, flirtatious best friend. For his suggestive banter to remain just that; a harmless, one-sided attraction. Maybe they’d jokingly entertain the thought of it every once in a while, when they were drunk, but the extent of their romantic relationship would end there. That's what Jackson's for, after all. A quick laugh, a shoulder to cry on, and not much else. 

But then comes Jinyoung.

Stupid, _wonderful_ Jinyoung. Proclaiming on his doorstep that _no,_ actually; Jackson is the one he wants, more than anything else, over any _one_ else. Something this brilliant is enough to make his head spin, and he needs a moment to collect himself.

Jackson feels his walls thawing and it feels like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute.

“Not to mention, you’re pretty hot,” Jinyoung teases, “Doesn’t hurt.”

Jackson smiles wryly. “Ah, so we finally get to the bottom of what all this is _really_ about.”

Jinyoung laughs too, but he drops his grip from Jackson’s jaw to grasp his other hand, cradling both of them ardently between his own.

“But Jackson, if you can find it in yourself to forgive me, I’m all in. I’ll be in every one of your stupid vlogs, I’ll stay up late and help you plan insane punishments for your ridiculous games, I’ll brag about my crazy successful, famous boyfriend to every person in L.A. who will listen. I _know_ the things I did were genuinely hurtful, and if you can’t move past them, I fully understand. But if you want all that too, Jacks… I’m ready when you are.”

Jinyoung sparkles down at him, thanks to their slight height difference, every hope and desire written across his features as clearly as the stars in the night sky.

Jackson purses his lips, and he forces down the laugh that threatens to bubble up. “You’ll have to try very hard to make it up to me, in the beginning, at least,” he replies airily. "And I'll hold you to what you said about the videos. I've been looking for a good editor."

Jinyoung lets out the breath he’s been holding in and the grin Jackson receives in return has him wanting to reach for his sunglasses, it’s so unapologetic in it's brightness.

“So that means—”

“Yes, Jinyoungie. I’d love to be your boyfriend,” Jackson laughs, “It took you a while, a couple of wrong turns along the way, but you got there eventually.”

Jinyoung hurries forward to embrace Jackson, burying his face into the crook of Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson freezes, his arms hanging in the air for a stunned second, before he closes them around Jinyoung’s warm figure. He tangles a tender hand through the other’s thick, dark hair.

“Thank you,” Jinyoung says into Jackson’s neck, “For giving me a chance. I promise I won’t waste it.”

Jackson believes him. As if he could do anything else. Jinyoung's rumbling voice leaves no room for doubts, tickling Jackson's skin and finally anchoring the tempestuous feeling that's swirled inside him ever since the party.

"And I hope my editing skills weren't the _only_ reason you said yes," Jinyoung continues, a teasing lilt to his words.

"It's a mutually beneficial relationship," Jackson responds, grateful that his stupid, love-sick smile is hidden from Jinyoung's view. "I use you for free labor, you use me for my hot bod. Everyone's happy."

Jinyoung pinches Jackson's waist. "You are insufferable." 

"Sorry to break it to you, buddy, but that's what you signed up for! No takebacks, either!"

When they finally pull apart, Jackson finds the twist of Jinyoung’s smile has shifted into something slightly more heated, and the air between them sizzles with possibilities.

“You know, you have a little something right here,” Jinyoung gestures lazily to the portion of face mask Jackson had managed to apply before he had been so _rudely_ interrupted.

“Say less,” Jackson murmurs, slowly inching closer, and Jinyoung happily shuts his mouth.

Jackson feels his eyes drift close, and his lips find Jinyoung’s in the darkness.

“Ahhhh, I’m so happy for you guys! Jinyoung hyung, lets dye your hair in celebration, come on it’ll be fun!” a voice comes from behind them.

Jinyoung draws back—deadly slow, like a sexy panther or something—to identify the intruder. “Bambam, how long have you been fucking standing there, exactly?”

Why is the sound of Jinyoung cursing doing it for him? Is that a kink? Jackson thinks he may have discovered a new kink. 

Bambam visibly gulps, “Oh, not long at all, hyung. I definitely haven’t been hiding around the corner listening to your conversation if that’s what you’re thinking. No sir!”

Bambam’s screams echo throughout the chilly beach twilight as Jinyoung tackles him to the ground.

The shrieks of “ _Jackson, please help me,”_ and “ _I know he’s your boyfriend now, but I think he’s actually going to kill me”_ fall upon deaf ears.

Jackson marvels to himself, as Jinyoung chases Bambam around the dunes, how clueless he was, months ago, when the idea of this whole event first came into his mind. How he could’ve never predicted all the unprecedented things it brought forth.

Jackson had expected to perhaps break a streaming record or two, and here he is, with a whole-ass _boyfriend_. But when he observes the fond glint in Jinyoung’s eyes as he finally catches up to Bambam, lecturing loudly about the importance of privacy into the younger’s ear, Jackson thinks that it’s been well worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Super Smash Bros voice* New Kink Unlocked!
> 
> Also, I got way too introspective about Bambam as a character during a goddamn wet t-shirt contest. He’s straight up stripping and i’m like, ‘but how does he feel about his peers’ perception of him’? (i feel like that actually fits him perfectly, though. a thoughtful thottie)
> 
> Let's all pop one open for Jackson and Jinyoung, congrats to them for getting their shit together.
> 
> Also, watch Sex Education if you have Netflix, it's so good.  
> 


	5. In Which Im Jaebum just really wants to get that book recommendation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop, we're back

“Alright, hot stuff, how about that one,” Bambam says loudly, pointing at the slim blond guy gliding by on roller-skates. Yugyeom shrugs nonchalantly, but he has to use everything in his power not to scream.

They’re downtown, sitting on a bench nestled right into the heart of the shops and crowds, groups of laughing teenagers and spring breakers bustling past them. They’re actually in the middle of another competition; they were instructed to split up into groups and “act natural”, with whoever being recognized first getting the point. It doesn't exactly seem like a fair fight, but Yugyeom's competitive spirit is already out and ready to battle, so he saves his objections. 

But Bambam, apparently, is fixated on finding Yugyeom’s “type” instead. Their vlog camera lays tragically forgotten, tucked into the elder's right hand.

“OK, what about her then?” Bambam gestures to a striking woman with short dark hair, looking down at her phone, her dark skin glistening in the sunlight. Bambam raises his eyebrows at him with an exasperated expression that says “ _I’m gay and even I recognize a baddie when I see one_ ”.

Yugyeom groans and buries his head in his hands. Bambam _had_ to be doing this on purpose, at this point. Yugyeom is sure of it. There’s no way he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know, Bambam,” he responds, trying and failing to stop the whine that threatened to creep in, “She’s gorgeous and all, but… I guess I’m just not attracted _to_ her? I don’t know, I think I just notice personality before anything else.” Not quite a lie, but not exactly the whole truth either.

Bambam rests his head delicately against his hand in thought, and Yugyeom takes the opportunity to study his companion in the silence. Bambam looks down-right deadly in his all black-ensemble, stylish black boots and a long tailored coat, not a single hair out of place. His subtle, dark eye make-up adds to the mysterious, expensive aura emanating off of him.

Yugyeom had always thought he had a better fashion sense than the typical hapless straight guy, something he prided himself in, but now he feels shabby in his simple flannel and jeans. Looking at Bambam, with his black polished nails and silver chains, Yugyeom thinks distantly that he obviously has some things to learn if he’s going to be a part of this whole world. His head swims, hit once again with how out of his depths he is.

“Aren’t you hot, Bambam?” he suddenly blurts out. Yugyeom is starting to believe all the times Amber told him that he was operating on 3 brain cells total.

Bambam startles a bit at the unexpected question, before he breaks out into a smug grin.

“Why, yes I am! Thank you for finally noticing, Yugyeom-ah,” Bambam preens, intent on exploiting Yugyeom’s embarrassment for all it’s worth. Yugyeom doesn’t even try to recover, opting to watch the way Bambam’s nose scrunches up when he laughs instead.

Bambam suddenly points to a jock-ish brunette talking with his friends at the cross-walk. “He’s definitely my type,” he sighs dreamily, “I like a man who looks like he can crush all of my insecurities with his bare hands and would still want to cuddle at the end of the day.”

Yugyeom can’t even imagine what horrible things he did in his past lives to deserve this conversation.

Bambam leans back to drape an arm around the back of the bench, “You know, Yugyeom, if I _had_ to guess what you’d be into, I think you would want someone who’s the life of the party, but a total romantic at heart. You know, a guy who would take you out to dinner but at the end of the day still knows how to just really throw it back—”

“What are you guys talking about?” And there’s Jackson and Jinyoung, hand in hand, looking annoying and disgustingly in love.

Bambam’s mouth snaps shut with a loud click. He sends Yugyeom a panicked, apologetic glance but he seems unable to speak.

There’s two ways Yugyeom could go about this. He can shrug it off, laughing away Jinyoung and Jackson’s quizzical looks until the whole interaction is a distant memory. Unthreatening banter that never amounts to anything, other than a vague, lingering question that never receives a definite conclusion. That’s what the old Yugyeom would do.

“Bambam’s just telling me what he thinks my taste in men is. So far, he’s not great at it,” Yugyeom rolls his eyes, his nonchalance at complete odds with the anxiety that’s raging inside of him. The words themselves aren’t anything too obvious, but he knows it won't be lost on his friends; observant to the point of inconvenience, at the best of times. He can see the look reflected across their eyes, silently asking, _"Is he...?"_

There’s a pregnant pause as everyone appears to be absorbing the bomb Yugyeom just dropped on them. Once they telepathically confirm with each other that " _yes, he is_ ", the couple’s shock melts away into two matching expressions of pride. They hurry to join Yugyeom and Bambam on the bench.

“Welcome to the team, Yugyeom! You’re in good company,” Jackson proclaims hardily, winking and ruffling Yugyeom’s hair. The younger relaxes his unconsciously clenched fists.

“Yugyeom-ie would definitely need someone who loves to dance,” Jinyoung says shrewdly. Jackson nods seriously.

“Absolutely. Long dancer’s legs would go fetchingly with our overgrown baby. And it has to be someone who’s willing to put up with his problematic love for Chris Brown,” Jackson’s raspy voice brushes against Yugyeom’s ear and he fights the urge to complain he’s not _that_ into the singer anymore.

“Hyung, don’t you think Yugyeom would totally like a super muscular guy? Like the kind who lives in the gym and gets offended when you offer him a caffeinated beverage, cause _his body is a temple_ or whatever,” Bambam badgers Jinyoung, making air quotes around the last part. He is obviously delighted to have found a partner to torture Yugyeom with. Jinyoung makes a big show of stroking his chin thoughtfully, his unoccupied hand still firmly intertwined with Jackson’s. Yugyeom sulks, hugging his bag to his chest.

“I wasn’t aware that today was international ‘Harass Yugyeom’ Day—"

“Oh get real, you all know Yugyeom is into the pretty boys. Don’t even try to kid yourselves,” a new voice comes from behind them. Mark approaches them, his eyes twinkling and his sharp canines glinting in the bright California sun.

Yugyeom thinks his skin might actually catch fire with how warm his face is getting. The blush only intensifies as he realizes this picture his friends are painting of his supposedly “perfect guy” is starting to look more and more familiar...

"Do you guys really think I'm that superficial?" Yugyeom complains, smacking his head against the bench. "Can't I just like a guy for his personality?"

"Eh," and "I don't buy it," are Mark and Bambam's responses. 

Jackson seems to take pity on him. “All joking aside, I hope you know that I’m _unbelievably_ proud of you. And really, don’t feel pressured to tell anyone else a _thing_ if you don’t feel comfortable with it. And we can have anything you want edited out of the final cut, just say the word.”

Yugyeom’s heart softens. He looks into Jackson’s earnest eyes and, not for the first time, Yugyeom is desperately thankful to have such a wonderful best friend.

“And, unexpected bonus, maybe now you’ll stop trying to shove your tongue down my throat every time we get drunk!”

Jinyoung and Bambam’s dumbfounded responses are cut short by a loud squeal. A teenage girl, dressed in floral overalls with a frankly impressive amount of scrunchies lining her wrists, rushes forward to greet them. Her mom trails behind her fondly, not appearing at all phased by her daughter’s over-the-top display of excitement.

“Oh my god, Jackson Wang!” she gasps, “I’ve been subscribed to you since you had 50K subscribers, I love you so much! And Yugyeom, you’re my favorite member of the Wang Squad, I can’t believe I’m looking at you with my own eyeballs... The light reflecting off of your body is going directly into my retinas, _I think I’m going to pass out_.”

Jackson smiles indulgently and suggests they take a picture, offering the camera to a waiting Mark. The girl nods breathlessly before she pauses, noticing their companions for the first time.

“And, wait a second,” she points an almost accusatory finger, “You’re Bambam. I’m subscribed to you too, you taught me how to contour, you’re such an icon! And Jinyoung, I recognize you from Bambam’s channel, _My Best Friend Reacts to My Middle School Pictures_ is a classic. What are you guys all doing here?”

Yugyeom’s brain short-circuits as he tries to keep up with the tsunami of information. Briefly, he forgets what they were even supposed to say when they were recognized, but thankfully Jackson steps in, smooth as ever.

“Just hanging out! Guess we had the same idea as everyone else, heading out to Santa Monica on such a beautiful day,” Jackson chuckles pleasantly, and Mark snaps a few different shots. Yugyeom flashes a pair of bunny ears behind Bambam’s head because he has no self-control.

“Who knows, though, I have a funny feeling you might run into another familiar face or two if you keep your eyes peeled,” Jackson adds conspiratorially, and Yugyeom worries about the monster his friend has just unleashed upon the world.

The girl’s eyes flash as she catches sight of Jaebum and Yeji heading into the Chipotle across the avenue, and she dashes off in pursuit, barely remembering to throw a quick _Nice meeting you_ over her shoulder before she’s off. Her mother thanks them politely for their time before idly following after her daughter.

Bambam suddenly furrows his eyebrows. "Wait a second, she recognized Jackson first. Who gets the point then?"

Mark’s stomach grumbles. “Fuck the contest, can we go get something to eat? I don’t get paid enough to just sit around and look pretty all day,” he says, disdainfully.

Jackson laughs. “Whatever you say, Mark. Lead the way then, your royal camera manly-ness!” he says, ducking into a bow. Mark shoulder checks the sunny blond, starting off in the direction of a vegan bakery down at the end of the street.

Jinyoung suddenly points at a lanky skater with long disheveled hair cruising past on a battered long-board. “Him!” The rest of the group erupts in disagreement, passionately debating whether or not skaters who look like they haven’t slept in weeks and eat cigarettes for breakfast fall under Yugyeom’s “type”.

For the first time in a long time, Yugyeom feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief, and his heart beats a little bit lighter in his chest.

* * *

Jinyoung is staring at him, lips pursed and a look in his eye that Bambam has learned to recognize means he’s up to no good. 

Bambam looks up from his laptop, sick of looking at his own face for the last 4 hours, editing. He wishes that he could’ve used this time as a real vacation, where he didn’t have to worry about work or life or anything. Alas, the greedy wheels of the internet never stop turning, and this video needs to be up by the end of the week. It was just another fact of life, like the fact the sun will rise in the east or that Jackson will never shut up about his stint as a potential olympic fencer.

Bambam looks back at Jinyoung, runs a hand through his own disheveled hair, and waits for whatever bullshit is about to come out of his mouth. 

“So... You’ve _never_ thought about it?” Jinyoung asks, heavy with disbelief. “Like, not even once?” 

They both look over to where Yugyeom and Jackson are visible through the window, playing volleyball with a few of the others. Yugyeom dives for the ball and misses miserably, by a few yards at least, and Jackson collapses across his back. They’re too far away to be able to make out what they’re saying, but the following chorus of laughter is unmistakable.

“Nope, not having this conversation with you right now,” Bambam grabs his laptop and heads for his own room. The cabin isn’t huge, but he’ll take whatever few precious feet of space from Jinyoung he can get. 

“Why? What did I say?” His friend feigns innocence, getting fainter when Bambam shuts the door. “Don’t be like that Bammie!”

 _Jinyoung’s gotten too cocky for his own good,_ Bambam thinks grumpily to himself. It’s like he thinks having a stable relationship makes him better than Bambam or something, just because _he_ pulled his shit together long enough to actually tell the object of his affections how he feels. (And maybe it does, Bambam admits. But still, _hey)._

He’ll have to brainstorm some schemes to knock his hyung down a peg and remind Jinyoung that it’s _Bambam_ who does the bullying around here. Ideas filter though his mind, and he absently wonders if he’ll be able recruit Yugyeom’s help.

* * *

He looks heavenly in the soft glow of the bonfire. All around them echo the voices and laughter of their friends, but all Bambam can focus on is Yugyeom’s boyish grin. The sharp line of his jaw in the low orange light.

Bambam gazes at him in the cool night air and considers.

Jinyoung clumsily moves into Bambam’s space to whisper something in his ear. The words get lost somewhere on the way to his brain, leaving him only with a warm tickle and the low, familiar rumble of Jinyoung’s voice. 

When Bambam fixes his eyes back across the fire pit, Yugyeom is just turning away. He’s listening intently to a tipsy Mark, but he smiles, small and private. It’s soft and embarrassed, but it sits on the younger’s face, undeniable. Like he can’t help himself.

Bambam doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the sight of Yugyeom’s blush.

A few stray embers drift through the gentle wind, and lazy partygoers’ bat at them absently to keep their clothes from catching.

Bambam looks again, at the man before him, and considers.

* * *

“Jackson just has the best thighs. I can’t stop grabbing them. Fuck this, where are they, I’m coming for them—” Jinyoung groans, abruptly cutting himself off to take another drink of his beer.

Glancing around, he realizes belatedly that he is _not_ still talking to Bambam, like he previously thought. Jinyoung’s unfocused eyes try to make sense of his surroundings.

There’s only one person who remains seated at the firepit with him. Jinyoung remembers now how everyone else had rushed over to the nearby lifeguard tower when Ten proclaimed he was going to perform a double backflip off of the old structure.

Jinyoung turns sheepish when the identity of his companion fully dawns on him.

Jaebum looks small and unsure in the dying light of the fire, but he offers a hesitant smile to Jinyoung anyway. His hair hangs soft and unstyled on his forehead and he's swimming in his black hoodie, fingertips peaking out from the sleeves. Jinyoung tries not to notice. 

“Hey Jinyoung,” he says, and Jinyoung can’t tell whether he’s had a few drinks or not; it makes him nervous. It’s very clear that Jinyoung has, and it reminds him of the first time they met.

Jaebum fumbles to fill the space. “I’ve been meaning to tell you by the way, congrats. It seems like the beauty team might have this thing in the bag. Very impressive performance out of you. A-and your team mates, of course!”

Jinyoung’s smile is shy, still testing the waters of talking with Jaebum again, after so long of only radio silence.

“I noticed you’ve been hanging out with Yeji a lot. She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Jinyoung asks mildly, having taken a liking to the bright, young dancer himself.

A fond expression softens JB’s sharp features. “Yeah, she’s a good kid. Yugyeom always says I remind him of a dad. I guess he was right for once.” Jinyoung laughs at the description, finding it surprisingly apt. Jaebum looks so much younger when he smiles, Jinyoung thinks.

“I can see the comments now, _JB is totally Yeji’s dad, omg so cute~”_ he says in high pitched voice to imitate whatever Youtube commenters are supposed to sound like. It ends up sounding suspiciously like Bambam.

Jaebum takes an audible breath.

“Look, Jinyoung, what I really want to say is I’m sorry. I was an idiot for the way I treated you. I… I miss you. _Um—_ well what I mean is— I miss talking to you!” He stutters nervously. “I thought we got along really well. In the short time we’ve know each other so far, at least. Don’t you think?”

Jaebum looks to Jinyoung, restless eyes searching for reassurance.

Jinyoung doesn’t deny it, but the undercurrent in JB’s words lets him know he has to navigate this conversation carefully. “I do,” he smiles warmly, “I missed talking to you too. We never finished our discussion about book recommendations, you know.”

JB’s initial discomfort slowly thaws when he sees that Jinyoung isn’t going to throw what’s left of his drink into the other’s face.

“Maybe,” Jaebum hesitates, “We can get together sometime? Discuss the books, maybe over some dinner?” He inches closer, unconsciously.

And for a moment, Jinyoung imagines it. He imagines a universe where there is nothing stopping the magnetic pull that seems to be pulling the two of them towards each other. Drifting closer and closer until the space between them disappears altogether.

But then the image of Jackson’s crooked grin flashes into Jinyoung’s mind, and the impulse vanishes into the quiet night air.

“I’d love to, Jaebum. _As friends,”_ he says the last part firmly, leaving no room for negotiation this time. He moves back slightly, restoring the distance Jaebum had unknowingly claimed.

Jaebum falters. “Right. As friends, of course,” he repeats, tasting the words like he didn’t quite believe them himself. There’s still a spark of hope in his dark, hypnotizing eyes.

But Jinyoung won't let himself be swayed. He thinks of Jackson, and the way he accepted Jinyoung with easy arms on that overcast evening. The promises Jinyoung had made to him.

Jinyoung stands. “Let’s go see what all the excitement’s about,” he juts his chin out in the direction of the tower. He sees Ten dangling from the railing in the distance, Matthew below, poised to catch him. He’s almost as tall as the edge Ten hangs from.

JB blinks, runs a hand though his messy black hair, but he moves to follow Jinyoung. The soft down of the sand sifts beneath their bare feet.

Someday this attraction will fade, Jinyoung tells himself. Maybe someday they’ll be able to look back and laugh about it, the fact that Jaebum used to have a crush on Jinyoung. They’ll chalk it up to a lesson in failed timing and missed moments, and no one’s heart will clench at the memories of the summer Jackson held those silly games. Jinyoung hopes.

He smiles at Jaebum, and Jaebum smiles back.

* * *

Time passes, as it always does.

Filming for the finale gets delayed for a couple of weeks. Bambam hears through Jinyoung there are some complications with finalizing the permits and blocking off private venues. Jackson still stubbornly tries to keep the closing event a top-secret surprise, for everyone; contestants, friends, and even his own boyfriend included.

“If I had known dating Jackson _doesn’t_ come with access to classified information about his Youtube career, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Jinyoung says dryly when Bambam pesters him for information.

The first wave of pictures and sightings from the Santa Monica publicity stunt finally break, and the reception from the rest of the internet exceeds what Jackson and his team had ever expected. Bambam's personal favorite to come out of the leaks is a photo of a tiny teenage girl with her arms wrapped around a grinning Mark Lee in the classic "awkward prom pose" while Johnny lurks jealously off to the side. Who he's supposed to be jealous of is still a question that haunts Bambam, coming back to him randomly when he's lying in bed awake at night. Some of the youtubers involved start to add their own cryptic posts, flashes of brightly colored t-shirts and shaky pictures of sets, just to stoke the already hysterical dumpster fire of excitement. 

Overly observant fans slowly begin to put together the full roster of players with an uncanny accuracy. Lia hadn't uploaded a single post regarding the games on her social medias, and she somehow avoided getting recognized even once during the last competition. That, however, didn't stop some hawk-eyed fan from managing to spot the _back of her head_ in a shot of Lisa and Rosie, identifying the make-up guru and firmly slotting her into the lineup.

The general consensus, though, is this; no matter who the cast, Jackson Wang is undoubtedly at the center of it all. The hashtag # _JacksonWangIsUpToSomething_ trends for three days straight. 

Jackson responds to the speculation by going live on Instagram, demurely denying the rumors with a chorus of 'Who, me?'s and a 'How could you even suspect such a thing~'. Bambam comments an eye rolling emoji, and the frenzy is ignited once again.

Bambam and Yugyeom text every day. Bambam sends the younger the top-quality memes he discovers throughout the wild, untamed corners of the internet. Yugyeom sends him back pictures of unflattering billboards and snails he finds on the sidewalk, saying they remind him of Bambam.

It’s nice. More than nice, Bambam admits. Over the past months, Yugyeom has grown into a real friend of his. Not just the kind that you get excited about when you see in person and then forget about their existence for months, but the kind that you don't hesitate to call up whenever you have a thought that could even remotely relate to them, just so you can have an excuse to talk. Bambam still adores the younger, like he always has, but he wasn’t prepared for just how _much_ he likes the new layer of shared history and trust building up between them.

Yugyeom’s changing every day, in terms of his self-confidence and how he’s come to accept what scared him so much in the past. He is radiant, with that fresh “I finally stopped hating myself” glow. Bambam cherishes every step of the journey he’s been able to provide support to Yugyeom through, always with a smart comeback against any self-doubt his friend offers up.

Bambam wished he had someone like that when he was a young, clueless pre-teen; waking up every day, dreading facing a world that felt like it wasn’t meant for him. Being that person for Yugyeom has been one of the most wholesome experiences of Bambam's life so far.

Which is _why,_ he thinks to himself, he’s so baffled as to how he ended up in this particular situation.

Bambam looks down at the text, flushing against his tan skin as he re-reads the message’s content. He sets down the phone, paces furiously around his bedroom. Picks the phone up from the bed, and flushes all over again.

It started out relatively normal. Yugyeom texted him, ranting once again about his anxiety over his inexperience with dating men and even just interacting with guys he’s attracted to. Like, with the actual _intent_ of romance. Not just projecting cool straight bro™ energy on the outside, and hopelessly pining after them in silence. Bambam is familiar with the feeling.

In their talks, Yugyeom has often expressed how he feels like he’s so far behind everyone else. He says that "no one will want him if they have to lead him by the hand through every little mile stone and road bump". Bambam always has to reassure him that everyone goes at their own pace, and there are plenty of younger guys who have never done anything with anyone, especially in the queer community. And also, hey, some guys are even into that. Yugyeom always shoves him when he says that last part.

 _You think too much,_ Bambam's fingers have wanted to type, more than once. He's always thinking about what everyone else thinks, and how they'll interpret his actions and what they'll say about him. Bambam doesn't know where Yugyeom got all these weird ideas about being gay or being a _real_ man (ok, maybe he has some idea, he's grown up in the same bullshit society as everyone else after all). Yugyeom’s learning, but Bambam knows firsthand that it takes time and it kind of sucks to go through. He just wishes he could take all the baggage off of Yugyeom, take away all the pressure he puts on himself and suckerpunch everyone and everything that made him put it there in the first place.

But he can't, so Bambam has to settle for correcting little things when he can and just being a friend, the best he can. In that way, it's just like all his other friendships, and the thought leaves him with a mixed feeling that spreads all the way down to his soles. 

Somewhere along the line, the conversation had turned sexual. Again, not something totally new for them. Once or twice, Yugyeom had texted him with questions of _that_ nature, and Bambam did his best to answer them. But those conversations had remained firmly informational, no ulterior motives or suggestive banter about them.

This text however…

 ** Yugyeomie~ **  
how would I even know if I’m good at it tho haha

Yugyeom has this hang-up about giving a blowjob. He’s mentioned it a couple of times, coyly skirting around the topic, never saying it in so many words. Whether he thinks that giving one will sentence him to a life of exclusively dick-sucking for the rest of his days, Bambam doesn’t know.

All Bambam can fixate on right now is the onslaught of images the words are forcing into his mind. Yugyeom, on his knees. Looking up at Bambam with needy, naïve eyes. High, breathy moans. 

“Go away, you stupid bitch,” he hisses down at the hard-on forming in his sweats, “You ruin everything.”

Bambam has to choose his words very carefully, he viciously reminds himself.

 ** Bambam **  
I guess you won’t know until you try

 _Shit,_ did that sound too flirty? He wants to backpedal, but the text is already sent. He sits in a stony silence, deciding to just wait for the reply, whatever it may be.

 _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it._ Yugyeom’s hollowed-out cheeks, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. The head of Bambam’s cock sliding in and out, filthy, teasing. _Fuck_.

He was thinking about it. Bambam isn’t a saint, okay? He’s just a man, and this is where life has landed him; sitting in his bed, awkwardly sexting one of his best friends, and sporting a raging erection that he refuses to acknowledge.

The vibration of his phone breaks Bambam out of his self-loathing.

 ** Yugyeomie~ **  
you’re probably right lol  
still, you can’t give me any tips or anything?  
what if I like accidentally bite a dick or something lmao

Bambam clutches his phone to his chest and lets out the longest sigh he’s ever given. He doesn’t remember signing up to be a sex-advice dispenser for his unintentionally, infuriatingly flirty best friend. He was a beauty guru, not a sex guru, for the love of god. His dick throbs angrily in his pants.

 ** Bambam **  
Jesus gyeom, are you for real  
idk, watch the teeth, remember the head is the most sensitive  
it’s not like I can give you a demonstration rn

Bambam bites into his lower lip after the texts are sent. He hopes he doesn’t come off too harsh, but he can’t exactly see a way he comes out of this conversation with both his dignity and their friendship intact.

The grey “…” bubble that appears under Yugyeom’s name stops Bambam’s heart in his chest. He can’t even seem to breathe.

 ** Yugyeomie~ **  
I guess not huh  
I’ll have to keep that in mind when I try it someday  
cause I’m pretty sure I want to try it

Bambam turns over into his pillow and screams.

 ** Bambam **  
epic!  
well it’s getting pretty late, I think im going to head to bed now  
see you on friday for the big finale :)

Bambam doesn’t wait for Yugyeom’s response, forcefully locking his phone and plugging it into the charger on his bedside table. He grumpily removes his shirt, crossing over to the bathroom, his other articles of clothing slowly joining it on the tiled floor. He stops when he catches sight of his reflection in the pristine glass of the mirror.

He’s a mess.

His dark hair is disheveled, like he’s been tugging at it, and Bambam can’t even remember whether he has been or not. The light flush which had appeared when Yugyeom sent that first text has traveled all the way down the long column of Bambam’s neck, dusting the slopes of his slender shoulders. Bambam is ashamed as he examines his bitten lips, swollen and plush like they had actually seen some action besides Bambam gnawing at them nervously while he sends risky messages.

He takes slow, deep breaths to calm his rabbiting heart-beat.

All this over a fucking text. _Kunpimook Bhuwakul_ , he narrows his eyes at the mirror, _you are a goddamn loser._

Bambam finally clambers his way into the shower, seething, and he wrenches the knob all the way to the right. The cold is enough to make his teeth chatter, but Bambam figures it’s what he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yugyeom be like: "who do i have to kill to suck a dick around here"


	6. In Which Park Jinyoung is Robbed (but not really)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, finally we’re getting to what everyone’s /really/ here for! The competition! 
> 
> Huh? Are they trying to tell me something? I can’t here them. Something about “romance”?
> 
> Anyways, onto the finale!

He stands in the entrance of the large, ominous gates, observing the words etched into the wooden sign above him.

“I’m forwarding you my hospital bills, Jackson Wang,” Bambam sighs, pointing to the camera trained on him, “You got that on film, that’s official now.”

He steps across the threshold and into the park, feeling like he’s finally signed his soul away, once and for all. His mother would be disappointed, but not surprised. 

Paintball. How appropriate, Bambam thinks with a sneer. Dramatic, messy, and potentially dangerous; the complete package. It’s a fitting end to an equally _sensational_ affair, he would say.

He surveys their future battlefield with a calculating eye. The paintball park Jackson has shut down appears to have a post-apocalyptic theme, rusted bunkers and vehicle wreckage strewn across the gravelly landscape.

Jackson has outdone himself this time in the costume department; having gone full _Fury Road_ for the big climax of the games. He’s dressed in an intricate, tattered mess of desert-colored cloth, with thick combat boots and a pair of futuristic goggles around his forehead. A stylist is touching up his wild, dark make-up, and Jackson flashes Bambam a cheeky rock-and-roll symbol. He can’t deny the blond man looks like he belongs in some post-doomsday Hollywood blockbuster, jagged and unhinged.

Bambam tightens his headband and Lisa continues applying the black war paint underneath his eyes. Next to him, Seokjin pulls his loose scarf up to protect the lower half of his face as dust clouds billow around them. Bambam knows they’re still firmly in Southern California, but looking around at the vast dunes of sand stretching out in every direction, he can’t help but feel like they’ve been transported to an alien desert planet.

Jinyoung makes eye contact with Jaebum from where the arts team is milling about next to the hull of a decimated airplane. Jinyoung drags a menacing thumb over the hollow of his throat, and JB grins silently.

“Alright gang, let’s huddle up,” Lisa says, dragging a surprisingly formidable arm around Bambam’s shoulder, “What’s our game plan?”

Four pairs of waiting eyes land on him, and Bambam groans. He still isn’t sure how he got himself elected team captain. Sometime during the 4-hour bus ride there, after Jackson’s proclamation that each team would need to select a fearless leader, the rest of his members had unanimously deemed Bambam as the best fit for the job.

Bambam mentally runs over the situation, Jackson’s explanation of the event replaying again in his head. The game isn’t as straightforward as it may first appear. It’s paintball, with—of course—a twist. As if Jackson would have it any other way. The objective itself is easy enough, capture as many opposing teams’ flags as you can before the sirens go off. Once you get hit, you’re out for the rest of the game, with the unspoken rule of making it as dramatic as humanly possible when you do.

The one catch is the only person who can actually steal a flag is a team captain; hence Bambam’s conundrum. His position puts an automatic, glowing red target on his back, one he has to figure out a way to work around. Their sole saving grace is the allowance Jackson made that the captains get three chances to get hit, after they all heatedly complained it would be too difficult otherwise.

Bambam racks his brain.

“Okay, listen up,” he finally says. “You two,” he gestures to Jin and Lia, “are on guard duty. Anyone sets foot near our target, you light them up with every shade of pink you can imagine, got it? And stay light on your feet. You can’t defend the flag if you’re dead.”

Lia and Seokjin salute enthusiastically, chirping back a hardy “Yes, captain!”

“Jinyoung and Lisa, you guys are covering me,” Lisa pumps her fist and Jinyoung’s honestly frightening biceps flex in anticipation, visible through his low-cut tank top.

“For the first half, just focus on keeping me in the game. There are going to be plenty of teams that come out of the gates, guns blazing. Let that eagerness be their downfall,” Jinyoung and Lisa nod resolutely, “We’re going to save our big entrance for the very end, so keep your eyes peeled.”

Bambam smirks and he puts his hand in the middle of the circle. “On three?”

Jinyoung grins savagely and adds his hand. “See, I knew you would be a good team captain.” The others murmur in pleased agreement.

Bambam scrutinizes the feral expressions of his teammates. From the murderous glints in Lisa and Jin’s eyes to Jinyoung’s grim, dirt-streaked face, Bambam thinks you would never be able to guess that they were a team made up of a bunch of prissy fashionistas and make-up artists. Bambam is suddenly glad that this ferocious bunch is _his_ team, and that he doesn’t ever have to stare down those chilling faces on the battlefield.

“One, two, three—Beauty team!” they finish, lifting their arms into the air, their booming voices attracting entertained glances from the other teams.

In the middle of the central clearing, Jackson slings a heavy-looking sack of protective gear onto the ground and begins passing out its contents to nearby players. Various competitors rifle through the equipment, supplying themselves with black padding, covering _some_ precious real estate but not as much as Bambam would have hoped. He sees Matthew shrug into a thick vest, pounding his chest approvingly once the article is secured.

“What’s up, you look hot,” Jackson says, offering a face guard to Jinyoung. The dark-haired man accepts the kiss Jackson is trying to plant on his cheek, but he keeps his expression flat.

“You know I’m dragging your ass to court for domestic abuse if I end up getting bruises, right?” Jinyoung crosses his unsettlingly firm arms across his chest, the very picture of bored and unimpressed.

Jackson winces sympathetically, “Oooh, you know I’d love to babe, but unfortunately this _was_ all in your release form. The one I passed along to Bambam.” He lifts an eyebrow innocently.

“Do you know where that ended up, Bam?” the blond asks merrily.

The memory of Bambam passing a contract in front of a sleep-deprived Jinyoung, hurriedly claiming it was just another maintenance document from their slightly unbalance landlord to sign, immediately resurfaces. Bambam ignores it, instead choosing to scratch his head deeply in thought before finally shrugging helplessly.

Jinyoung just scoffs, slipping the mask over his unusually wild mop of hair.

“Alright kids,” Jackson’s smile is all sharp edges, “Ready for the final show to begin?”

He leans in one last time to plant another sloppy peck to Jinyoung’s jaw, before he’s dashing off, weaving and disappearing behind the decrepit buildings and ruins. Jinyoung calls after him in confusion, but there’s no reply.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Bambam says.

A disgruntled employee emerges from the entrance of the staff building, armed to the teeth with paintball guns and technic-color ammo. The rest of them descend onto the haul like a frenzied pack of piranhas, seizing rifles and scores of ammunitions. He watches Lisa grab a semiautomatic, her fingers flexing around the barrel, experimental. Bambam, in a daze, slings a bandolier of fuchsia paint pellets over his torso like he’s goddamn Rambo, and he wonders how his life has come to this.

The bored-looking teenager who brought the guns out helps Bambam tie a bright pink captain’s brassard around his arm, branding him as a lamb ripe for the slaughter. Jungkook, Momo, Johnny, and Jaebum’s vibrant armbands also stand out among the sea of black and tan.

Suddenly, a deep, rumbling voice crackles to life. “Alright ladies and gentleman, once you’ve equipped yourself to your own proper satisfaction, please get ready to quickly make your way to your designated corner of the playing field.”

Bambam’s chin flies up as he tries to discern to source of the sound. He locates a tall, wooden post nearby, an old-timey loudspeaker affixed the top of it, but the noise seems to rattle throughout the entire park. A speaker system of some kind, then. Great, at least when Bambam’s got bullets flying towards him from all directions, he’ll still be able to hear Jackson’s lovely commentary no matter how far he runs.

“As much as I love seeing all of your beautiful, terrifying faces, I’m not looking to get my ass blasted with paint balls. So, I will be commentating from a safe, _undisclosed_ location,” Jackson’s tinny voice filters through, echoing eerily in the distance.

“You already know the rules, all guns stop at the sound of the sirens. You all have cameras built into your masks, so try not to get yourself cancelled in the heat of the moment, gamers. There will be referees and of course some extra cameramen on deck, so don’t even try to cheat—you’ll just end up embarrassing yourself,” he says cheerfully.

Bambam catches Yugyeom’s eye and mouths ‘ _He’s talking about you’,_ to which Yugyeom snorts and pantomimes shooting him.

“I suggest you take a good look at the faces around you, because the next time you see them, I can guarantee they won't be as pretty,” Jackson trails off ominously, and the silence that settles only serves to unnerve Bambam further.

He glances around, at his friends and companions, and Bambam’s never been to war but he briefly wonders if this is what it feels like. Everywhere he looks, he’s met only with grim expressions of determination. His own thought makes him scoff, and Bambam sincerely hopes this is closest he’ll ever get.

But still, as he observes the crowd, from JB’s iconic chin of fury, to Amber’s barely suppressed smirk, and even to Yugyeom’s twinkling eyes, there’s only one question hurtling through his mind.

Can he really shoot these people?

 _Yeah_ , he immediately thinks, _probably_. Why not? Bambam’s hands tighten around the handle of his gun; they’ll be shooting at _him_ anyway. Why not aim for a chance at the gold while they’re already at it.

The ear-splitting cry of the sirens rip through formerly peaceful desert, and Bambam barely has time to give Yugyeom a final wink before he’s ducking and running as fast as his thin legs can take him.

* * *

He sees Lia and Jin take off in the direction of their target, and it eases Bambam’s mind a bit to think of those two standing watch over their precious flag.

Bambam dives into an empty tin shack, Jinyoung and Lisa hot on his heels. The three of them crouch underneath the empty window-frames, chests heaving. Lisa intently watches both exits and Jinyoung runs an inquisitive hand over Bambam to ensure that he wasn’t hit in the scuffle.

“Kai Kim and Mina Myoi have been eliminated from the competition,” they hear Jackson say over the speaker, abnormally devoid of emotion, making the announcement all the more unnecessarily bone-chilling. Okay, now this is so Hunger Games that Bambam wouldn’t be surprised if Jackson gets slapped with a copyright claim from Ms. Collins herself as soon as this episode airs.

Jinyoung whistles lowly, “Damn, they’re playing dirty out there. Didn’t even give em’ a fighting chance.” Lisa shakes her head disapprovingly, eyes still trained on the doorway.

Bambam isn’t content to just sit entirely still, so, ignoring Jinyoung’s alarmed whispers, he peaks over the windowsill. After a beat, Jinyoung reluctantly does the same.

What they see is a lone Felix, creeping cautiously across the edges of the courtyard. He trails along the sides of the buildings, clutching his small handgun close. A commotion comes from the east, and the lanky boy cowers behind an empty oil drum, back turned against the roaming pack of arts team shooters. Unfortunately for Felix, while his new position shields him from _that_ threat, it puts him directly in the line of sight of Bambam and Jinyoung.

“Don’t do it, Bambam,” Jinyoung warns, still hushed so as to not alert Felix. Bambam lines up his rifle on the edge of the windowsill anyway, just a hint of the barrel poking out of the vacant space.

“Let me take the shot, hyung. Trust me.” Bambam whispers back, and Jinyoung lets go. Bambam’s fingers close over the trigger, and three pink splatters bloom onto Felix’s chest, his mouth a perfect “o” of shock.

From her position at the exit, a spray of bullets is let loose from Lisa’s gun, the mechanical whirr of the chambers emptying reverberating loudly against the metallic walls.

“Felix Lee, Ten, and Wendy Son have all been eliminated from the competition,” comes the announcement.

“Holy shit, Lisa, two in one?! You’re a machine,” Bambam exclaims, but Lisa is rushing over and grabbing a steely hand around his bicep before he can even finish.

“We have to move, Bam, I have eyes on a squad of Green team players heading this way,” she grits out, and they trip out into the blinding sunlight once again.

Bambam’s heart pounds at the words, and he crouches behind a rusty, overturned trash can. He’s not sure if it fully covers his form, but he can only hope.

In the next moment, a lot of things happen in a very short succession of time.

When he looks up, Bambam’s met with the razor-sharp points of Mark Tuan’s grinning teeth. Before he can even get his final words out though, the side of Mark’s helmet erupts in a burst of pink paint. Bambam whips his head around to see Lisa, clad in her sleek black leather outfit, looking badass and capable. She stands defiantly in the middle of the clearing, twirling the gun in her hands.

As Bambam’s astonished gasp of “ _Lisa,”_ leaves his mouth, a symphony of purple, green, and blue spray starts to appear all over her slight figure. It’s a fucking massacre. He sees her fall to the ground, in perfect clarity, the rest of the world a blur around them.

He waits for one tense, oxygen-deprived moment before rushing forward to haul away Lisa’s limp body. He deposits her behind the side of a nearby building. Beside him, Jinyoung has reappeared, pushing up his mask to reveal his wide, concerned eyes.

“Bam—” she starts, but he shushes her with a tender finger to the lips.

“Don’t speak, save your energy,” he whispers, tearfully.

“Shut up,” she hisses weakly, “Listen to me, Bambam-ah, Jinyoung. You have to win this. For me. Promise me, okay?” The desperation in her voice spikes as she chokes the words out.

Tears well up in his eyes, making him squint even harder in the harsh sunlight. “I will, Lalisa. I promise…”

At the words, her eyes begin to drift shut, and a stillness overcomes her colorfully-painted body. Bambam clutches her closer, crying out in anguish, and Jinyoung hangs his head.

A tap at Bambam’s shoulder. He cracks open an eye to find the referee, looking equal parts disturbed and amused. Lisa opens her eyes and untangles herself from Bambam, awkwardly rising to her feet to follow the referee off the field.

“I’ll see you guys when you finish up, then,” she gives a small wave and disappears behind another building.

_Right._

“Mark Tuan, Roseanne Park, Bobby Kim, and Lalisa Monoban have been eliminated from the game. All team captains remain active.”

Bambam grips Jinyoung’s sweaty face with his palms. “Listen, youngie. I have a crazy idea, but I just need you to go with me on this one.”

“You want to split up. I’ll go after the captains and you go try to get some flags,” his best friend responds instantly. Bambam blinks.

“Wait, how did you—"

“It’s like they say; no risk, no reward, right?” Jinyoung shrugs. “Be careful, Bammie. You’ve got three lives, you’re not invincible, alright?” Bambam pouts, a little indignant, but he nods regardless. Jinyoung winks, and lowers his helmet.

“See you on the other side,” he says, voice muffled. And with that, Jinyoung rounds a corner, vanishing in a billow of dust.

Finally taking in the terrain around him, Bambam pieces together that he’s in the Gaming team’s corner of the map. The flag shouldn’t be too far from here. He runs through the mental checklist of members still in from the Gaming team; just Jungkook and Brian, and Jungkook could be god knows where at the moment. _No time like the present_ , Bambam thinks to himself.

Weaving, dodging, and scurrying, Bambam makes his way to the flag pole, deftly avoiding the other players by the skin of his teeth. The vivid green flutters in the scorching wind, tantalizingly close. Brian stands at the base of the target, fearfully scanning the horizon.

Okay. Bambam has the element of surprise here, he reasons. He can see exactly where Brian is, and Brian doesn’t have a clue. All he has to do is wait for the right moment. He steadies his gaze in the scope, and he waits.

The loud static of Jackson rattling off more player deaths makes Brian startle, and Bambam seizes his opportunity.

 _Bang._ A splatter of pink materializes at the edge of Brian’s ankle. _Good enough_ , Bambam shrugs internally.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” the gaming team guard protests, throwing his gun petulantly onto the ground. Bambam books it to the target, moving so quickly the world around him fades into a blur.

A loud _crack_ interrupts his mad dash, and his skull explodes into pain. The sound turns out to be his forehead colliding with an equally disorientated Momo’s, who evidently had the same idea as Bambam. He foggily reaches for his dropped gun, and Momo does the same. His finger squeezes the trigger, and he feels a stab of discomfort blossom across his chest. He looks down and sees the stain of yellow paint, and Momo smirks, before looking down to discover her own, matching splash of pink.

Bambam scrambles for the green flag, and Momo seems to decide this point is more trouble than it’s worth. She gives Bambam a flick of her wrist, the one that says _“I’m watching you”_ , and she sprints away.

One life down, and one potential point clutched desperately in his clammy hand, Bambam sets off back towards his own goal.

On the way, he sees Mark Lee and Amber locked in a western-style showdown, pistols aimed directly at each other’s face masks. The sound of their awful southern accents is loud in the otherwise quiet square. Intrigued though he is, Bambam ultimately decides to brush past the spectacle, undetected.

Two very welcome faces come into view as he finally arrives at his destination. Lia and Seokjin break out into elated giggles and congratulations as Bambam approaches their home base. A relieved sigh pushes past his lips when he observes their flag still waving proudly on the pole. Bambam ties the crumpled green banner just below their own, and he can’t stop the self-satisfied that makes its way to his face.

Another declaration interrupts their mini-celebration.

“Jungkook Jung, Jaebum Im, Yeji Hwang and Jinyoung Park have all been eliminated from the game,” and Bambam knows that Jinyoung went out in a blaze of glory. Three opponents, two of them runners, all in one go. Lisa would be proud.

“Also, Amber Lui and Mark Lee have both perished in an ultimately pointless, but very entertaining scuffle,” Jackson continues, “Ten players remain in the game. As of right now, it is a tie game.”

Bambam hesitates. “Should I go for one more?” he asks, turning to his teammates.

Lia and Seokjin look at each other before looking back to him.

“Take us home, Captain,” Jin says, his eyes shining in open admiration.

It’s all Bambam needs to hear. He bows his head once, and he turns to trek onwards.

It’s a game of stealth now, he thinks to himself, as he creeps along the walls of run-down huts and ruins. The initial cluster of players has been thinned out, leaving only a handful of contenders to stalk the wide open plain. It’s more frightening this way, somehow. He spies a yellow post, signaling his entry into Vlogging team territory. _Ok,_ _Bambam_ , he tells himself, _stay low, get in, and get out._

There’s a dry click, and a forceful wave of yellow suddenly obscures the glass of his visor. Bambam stumbles back from the force of the hit, and he blindly unloads the contents of his gun in every direction, searching for his unseen assailant.

When Bambam pulls off his helmet, Matthew, now decorated a lovely shade of pink, grins back at him. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Bit of an overreaction, but fair enough,” the large man teases, even as he winces. Bambam feels a small, secret pang of sympathy for him. That couldn’t have felt good.

Bambam discards his ruined helmet on the gravel, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair.

“Wait, Matthew, before you go,” the other man looks up, surprised, “Can you give me your gun? Mine’s out of ammo.”

Matthew smiles even wider, incredulously. He looks to the worker who’s come to collect him. “Is that legal, ref?”

The referee, a blonde young man in his early twenties who looks more than a little starstruck, just shrugs weakly. Matthew takes this as a yes and passes Bambam his rifle.

“Good luck, Bambi. You’re gonna need it!” He sings in his deep, resonant drawl. Bambam sticks out his tongue.

“Your team doesn’t stand a chance, big guy. Now get out of my way,” he says, forging ahead while the awed referee tries to ask Matthew for a picture.

“Just watch out buddy, Momo’s still out there you know!” Matthew calls after him, and Bambam tries not think about that too hard.

The rhythm of his heavy boots crunching against the gravel is loud, _too_ loud. Bambam can barely suck in a breath to his screaming lungs as he tries to keep the tremor out of his hands.

 _There it is._ He looks up reverently at the brilliant yellow of the banner. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, Bambam thinks to himself, looking around once, twice just to be sure. He hurries forward to unstring the flag, tying it securely to his own wrist and he prepares for the final race.

He feels the pair of eyes on him before he sees them.

Bambam turns around slowly, and he’s met with a familiar little beauty mark.

Yugyeom’s gun is trained directly over Bambam’s heart, one eye squeezed shut and his finger hovering over the trigger, perfectly poised to fire. The warm desert breeze gently ruffles his auburn hair, and they’re so close Bambam can see the fan of his shut eyelashes splayed against his cheek.

 _Game over_.

“Not in the face,” Bambam squeals hurriedly, hoping for a quick and merciful end. He screws his eyes shut.

The impact doesn’t come.

He opens his eyes hesitantly. Yugyeom’s rifle has dropped just a fraction of an inch. Bambam's not even sure if Yugyeom's present in the moment at all. His mind might be in another dimension entirely, judging from the forlorn little look in his eye. Bambam mirrors Yugyeom's frozen position, too terrified to even blink. 

Suddenly, Yugyeom's head dips a barely-there nod, so subtle it’s impossible to tell whether he did it on purpose or not.

It doesn’t matter, in the end, because Bambam’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he ducks and runs away from the conflicted giant before he has the time to change his mind.

“Thanks!” he shrieks out, blowing a kiss back at Yugyeom’s dumbstruck face.

He hears Yugyeom call after him, but it's way too late now. "You snooze, you lose, bitch!" he shouts back, before Yugyeom disappears from view completely. 

“Seokjin Kim has been eliminated from the game,” Bambam hears as he flies across the course, shots of the final skirmishes ringing out across the battlefield. The declaration makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, but he barely has time to think at all as he navigates the treacherous landscape of the paintball field.

Lia is valiantly defending their banners, popping in and out of an empty barrel to take shots at a Johnny who’s rapidly gaining ground. Lia notices Bambam approaching from behind, and she visibly perks up. Bambam frantically lifts a finger to shush her, and Lia’s eyes widen in recognition, trying to keep her expression neutral.

Bambam raises his gun, aiming directly at the wide target of Johnny’s back. The other team captain yelps as Bambam etches out a smiley face in yellow paint.

Bambam staggers forward, and he wearily cords the long neon banner underneath the others. Lia strangles him in a furious bear hug, and the sound of shrill sirens floods their ears again.

* * *

Jackson sighs, thick with emotion, into his golden microphone. “Friends. Fans. Influencers. Thank you, for joining me in this parking lot for the closing ceremonies of the inaugural Youtuber Games.”

A tired but passionate cheer bubbles up from the crowd. The onlookers are paint-splattered, bruised, and in some cases, potentially concussed, but that doesn’t stop them. Bambam lifts up a gloved hand to block out some of the unforgiving sun, Jinyoung next to him, pulling him closer into his warm, one-armed embrace. He wants to protest, say that it’s way too hot to be all over each other like this, but the open affection on Jinyoung’s face keeps all the complaints stuck in his throat.

“It has truly been a historical run, you guys. I think we can all agree that you lot know a thing or two about _entertainment!”_ Jackson yells, radiating pride. “Go ahead, give yourselves a round of applause, for a show well done.”

Big Matthew shouts over the crowd. “Hold on, hold on. Can we please get a round of applause for our exceptional host, Jackson Wang right here?!” This time, the cheers are doubled in their intensity, the whoops and shouts resonating throughout the mostly empty parking lot. Jinyoung’s deep voice stands out above all the rest.

Jackson blushes furiously at the applause. The flush of his cheeks is slightly marred by the dark smeared makeup from earlier, but Bambam still catches it. Bambam doesn’t know how he still manages to look so surprised at the praise. The fact that Jackson Wang still doesn’t comprehend how amazing he is will continue to astound Bambam probably until the day he dies.

Jackson stutters a few times before he’s able to regain his composure. “Before we get to the final scores, I’d like to hand out a few awards,” he says, gesturing to the small table set up next to the buses, an array trophies glittering enticingly in the sunny afternoon, “to help us commemorate some of the most unforgettable moments of the season.”

The players are intrigued, an excited murmur rippling through them. There had been no mention of awards before this, and Bambam is curious to see Jackson’s picks. He’s also just a _bit_ of an attention whore, so he perks up, like many of the others, at the chance for a little extra recognition. It comes with the gig, he figures.

“Let’s go ahead and start off with a big one. Why not, right,” Jackson grins, and he reaches over to grab the largest cup from the table, “MVP.” The murmur gets louder, and a few names are lowly tossed around. Bambam is surprised to hear his own name more than once. Jackson glances down at the trophy, seemingly flooded with memories.

“This person was an invaluable resource to their team throughout the entire competition,” the blond starts. “They brought home a lot of wins for their team, and was never afraid to stick out a limb for the sake of their members. He—” a few of the girls deflate, “was a force of nature in every drinking contest, and he even managed to take out three opposing team mates at once in the paintball event. This year’s Most Valuable Player award goes to the one, the only, Jinyoung Park!”

His teammates clap Jinyoung on the back, and the dark-haired man walks bashfully over to collect his trophy. Jackson grins from ear to ear, and he kisses Jinyoung smack dab on his lips. Jinyoung startles, never really having been a fan of overt PDA, reflexively pulling back to cover his flushing face with his hands. The crowd coos adoringly.

“ _So cute,_ Jinson forever!!” Bambam shouts, falling over Lisa in his earnest to tease his hyung.

“This is nepotism!” someone else calls out mildly, sounding a lot like JB. Jackson pulls away from his flustered boyfriend to narrow his eyes suspiciously, and every one laughs. Jackson smacks Jinyoung’s ass affectionately, and he stumbles his way back to his team. Jin pats his arm sympathetically.

“Okay, next up! If there’s an MVP, then there also, naturally, has to be an LVP,” and the crowd _oooo’s_ salaciously.

“This person,” Jackson says, waving around the trophy that depicts an unfortunate golden little man face-planting into the ground, “though we love him dearly, couldn’t really be bothered with the entire competition from the get go.” Every eye immediately lands on one person.

Mark has a palm slapped over the upper half of his face, but the wry smile he's trying to suppress says it all.

“This player left in the middle of multiple events to order food, somehow managed to score a bullseye on _another_ team’s target during Punishment Archery, and there’s also the simple fact he’s kind of a traitor for abandoning his housemates for the gaming team,” Jackson says, “But that’s all just part of his charm, isn’t it?”

“This year’s Least Valuable Player award goes to our very own Mark Tuan!” Mark’s teammates and the other Wang Squad members cheer fanatically and push him towards the front.

“I regret the day I ever sat next to you in Mrs. Sevilla’s 10th grade English class,” Mark informs Jackson seriously, and Jackson smacks a wet peck onto Mark’s sun-kissed cheek.

“This is getting exciting, isn’t it?” Jackson cackles. “So, sort of related to the LVP, here we have the ‘Most Epic Fail’ award. This award goes to the person who gave us the moment that made all of us go, ‘did that really just happen?’ when we watched it back on the tape.”

Bambam tries to think if he at any point had a slip-up like the one Jackson was describing. He comes up empty. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, Bambam has had kind of a killer run over the course of the games.

“I have to be honest with you guys, before today we actually had a different person and moment lined up for this award. Originally, it was meant for Bobby and his spectacular display of intestinal distress during the Beer Pong tournament,” Jackson winks at Bobby, who fist-bumps Mina, “They were cleaning vomit off of that camera for _days_ , man, it was incredible.”

“However, something happened today that was so astonishing, we had no choice to give this award to a new recipient.” Bambam looks curiously to Jinyoung. His friend smirks, knowing, and he shushes Bambam impatiently, even though he hadn’t said anything.

“I know most of you already saw it from the monitors in the eliminated player’s waiting area, but _this_ particular contestant fumbled his job as flag guard _so_ epically, he allowed an opposing team’s captain with only _one_ life left to capture his banner. In a way, it was almost breathtaking,” Jackson sighs dreamily.

“The 2020 ‘Most Epic Fail’ Award goes to the dance machine himself, Yugyeom Kim!” The audience is positively tickled at the sight of Yugyeom’s shock-stricken face.

“Go up there, Gyeom,” Ten has to whisper, loudly.

“I have to ask, Yugyeomie,” Jackson says, pressing the silver trophy into the tall dancer’s hands, “What was going through your mind in that moment?”

Bambam has never seen Yugyeom’s face more red than it is in this moment, and that is _saying something._ Yugyeom’s jaw hangs open helplessly, blinking rapidly as he tries to think of something, anything, to say.

“Have mercy on him, he’s just a boy!” Amber cries out. It’s really an act of charity when Jackson pushes the frozen Yugyeom back towards the crowd.

“Let’s hear it for Yugyeom, folks,” he says, and everybody cheers appreciatively.

“Okay, this is the last award before we reveal the final scores, but it’s a big one, so listen up.” Everyone falls quiet.

“This award,” Jackson holds up the last award, a medal this time, “Goes to the most memorable moment of the entire games. This person delivered us a moment that will stay with the rest of us until, quite honestly, the day we die.” He waves the medallion emphatically with every word, and Bambam _wants_ it.

“I am, of course, talking about Jinyoung’s routine in the wet t-shirt competition,” Jackson says. Each and every person in the audience, player and staff alike, nod and voice their assent. Bambam wants to be disappointed, but even he can’t deny how _memorable_ that performance was. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to erase the memory of Jinyoung twerking violently on Santa Monica beach while Jackson drooled on himself from his brain. Bambam's done a lot of shit, but he thinks that was the moment when he truly lost his innocence. 

Jackson winds the shining medal around Jinyoung’s slowly bruising neck, and his roommate looks like he’s regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“It’s awfully suspicious that your boyfriend’s winning all the awards, Jackson!”

“You know it’s not too late to cut all of your footage out of the final edit, right, Johnny?” Jackson yells back.

“I’m wounded, Mr. Wang!” Johnny cries out from where he’s smothering a giggling Mark Lee.

“All right, enough of this ego-stroking, let’s get the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Jackson says. He turns to address the camera. “As you guys know, we’ve been keeping the scores from the last few competitions secret from the players, for maximum drama. As far as these jokers know, it really is anyone’s game.”

“Can I get all the team leaders up here for the final reading of the points?” The gamemaster requests grandly.

Bambam starts to move, putting one foot carefully in front of the other, as the suspense threatens to eat him alive. The other captains stand proudly next to him, specimens of beauty and power as they stare down the watching crowd. Bambam gulps.

“We’ll start with last place. With 57 points, we have our favorite limes, the team who’s been cursed since the very beginning, the Gaming Team!” Jungkook is warmhearted when he accepts Jackson’s handshake, and the other green team members cheer like they’ve won instead of getting dead last.

In a shocking turn of events, fourth place is awarded to the Arts team. JB grips Jackson’s hand firmly. There’s a moment of tension, where the pierced singer looks dead into Jackson’s brown eyes, but it dissipates when Jackson places the 4th place medal against Jaebum’s magenta painted chest. JB smiles his wide, all-consuming eye smile and the two of them pound each other on the back enthusiastically. Bambam’s glad to see they’ve worked out any possible bad blood between them after all.

“Alright, alright, here’s where it gets good,” Jackson says, looking down at the cue cards in his hand, “In third place, with 69 points….”

“—Nice!”

Jackson laughs before he quickly smothers it, “We have... The Comedy Team!”

Johnny pretends like he’s nervous as Jackson offers him the bronze medal, and Jackson swats him on the bottom. Seems like no one’s ass is safe from Jackson today. The blond is lucky that their lives are so weird, and that there’s no HR department he has to answer to.

From the crowd, Bambam sees Jinyoung look vaguely jealous. 

Johnny shuffles over to climb onto the lowest rung of the large podium the PA’s have produced, and his lanky legs dangle comically off the side for a short second. Once he's settled, he shakes his clasped hands from side to side, as if he’s an Olympian finishing the 100m sprint. The audience eats it up.

“Momo, Bambam, can I have you two face each other please?” Jackson asks somberly.

The pair of them turn quickly to comply. They hold each other’s hands like they’re beauty pageant contestants, vying for the title of queen. Bambam meets Momo’s gaze. Her bangs are matted to her forehead with perspiration, and Bambam’s sure he’s no better. They both desperately fight off their smiles.

“I have in my hands the final outcome of the 2020 Youtuber Games. There can be only one victor. Are you ready for the results?” Jackson asks, the most serious Bambam has ever heard him.

He and Momo nod.

“The official runner up is…. The yellow team!” Sound. Cheers. The world lights up in noise and excitement. “So that means, our winning team is the Beauty team! Congratulations, Bammie!”

Jackson’s voice is a distant distraction. Lisa, Seokjin, and Lia help Bambam up onto the tall pedestal.

Jackson hands him his medal and a microphone, encouraging him to say a few words.

It’s Bambam’s turn to be speechless. His brain is reeling like a freshly severed fishing rod, trying to decide whether to be funny, or sincere, or casual. He finally just opens his mouth, and lets the words rush out.

“Holy shit, wow.” Laughter. “Sorry, Jackson, you’ll have to bleep that one out. I don’t even know where to start. Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say I really had no goddamn idea what to expect from these videos.”

“I’m not exaggerating when I say this has been the most insane experience of my entire life,” Bambam hears his voice getting choked up, and he tries his best to ignore his own embarrassment, “But I wouldn’t change any bit of it. I really feel like I’ve gotten so close to you guys, and I know you all feel the same. I’ve made so many amazing new friends, and I finally feel like I’ve found a place I can really belong, you know?” His eyes land on Yugyeom in the front row.

“Don’t get me wrong, winning is definitely awesome, you guys should try it some time,” his fellow influencers laugh indignantly, “But for me, that’s been the biggest prize.” Bambam squeezes his eyes tightly to stop the stubborn tears that try to escape.

The crowd shouts their reassurances, concerned “We love you Bambam!” and “Don’t cry!”s rising up right away. It only makes his heart feel fuller, and the tears try even harder to spill out. Cheesy stuff like that usually makes him sick, but he’s just in a really vulnerable spot right now, okay?

Bambam’s battle against his own emotions is suddenly cut short by a pair of soft lips against his. The smell of pine floods Bambam’s senses.

He is aware of the gasps of shock around them, but they ricochet off his brain, and they might as well be underwater, half way across the planet all the good they’re doing him.

His eyes fly open to take in the sight of Yugyeom pressing his lips hesitantly to Bambam’s. He’s still almost the same height with Bambam on the podium, only having to tilt his chin the slightest bit upwards. The only thought clanging around in his vacant mind right now is a wordless exclamation of “!!!”

Yugyeom starts to pull away, looking regretful and apologetic, and Bambam can’t have that.

Bambam jumps forward, wrapping his long legs around Yugyeom’s sturdy waist. He rejoins their mouths messily, every pent-up thought and aborted desire channeled directly into the slide of Yugyeom’s lips against his. Yugyeom stumbles a bit, but he steadies Bambam with his firm hands on Bambam’s thighs, and this time he can’t ignore the cat-calls and whistles erupting all around them.

He’s far past the point of giving a shit, though, and he deepens the kiss further, relishing in the feeling of Yugyeom blushing underneath his fingertips.

Like with all great kisses, it’s the need for oxygen that causes them to finally pull apart. The faces Bambam sees vary from pleasantly surprised to complete and utter shock to insufferable smugness (courtesy of Lisa). Yugyeom lets Bambam down, but his hands move immediately to frame Bambam’s hips, like he can’t bear to part completely. He looks down at Bambam, out of breath, and he lifts a hand to wipe away the runaway tears from Bambam's cheek.

“Jinyoungie, I think you’re going to have to give up your ‘Most Memorable Moment’ award,” Jackson laughs delightedly.

But Jinyoung, crushing his boyfriend like a vice as proud tears of his own streak down his face, certainly isn’t complaining.

* * *

They’re watching outtakes in Jackson’s living room.

Jackson insisted on having a wrap party straight after they finished up the last shoot, encouraging all who could make it to come. Not everyone could, of course, and there was a round of tear-filled farewells, flights to Atlanta, Chicago, Sydney, and even Seoul waiting to be caught.

It really does tear Bambam’s heart up to say goodbye to Seokjin, who only lives in San Francisco but cites a lonely boyfriend he has to get back to. The glamorous man leaves them all with one last flying kiss before he piles into his uber, waving furiously out of the car window until he’s taken out of sight.

The party is winding down, and the mood has turned somewhat sentimental. It’s late, but they still cackle uncontrollably at the unflattering paused face of Mark on the TV screen. Mark himself, who’s passed out on the futon, doesn’t really seem too bothered about it. It’s really just the people who live in the house, plus a small handful of others, left. Earlier, there had been booze, weed, and a round of karaoke that shook the entire block. Now, though, all they can do is sprawl across the couches, boneless, and giggle at the playback of Jackson repeatedly flubbing his lines.

Bambam’s head is tucked into the crook of Yugyeom’s neck, every inch of their sides pressed snugly together, and it still feels like a dream. Yugyeom absently runs a thumb over their intertwined hands, snickering along every now and again. Bambam hasn’t taken anything, but he stills feels light-headed. Cuddling with Yugyeom is _warm._ The heat swallows him up, and he doesn’t know why he didn’t expect that, but he could definitely get used to it. 

Eventually, Jackson stands and cracks his back. “Alright, folks, it’s about time to wrap this thing up,” he yawns, shooing them towards the front door. Some of the patrons protest half-heartedly, but they move to stand, offering their thanks to Jackson for being a great host and their goodbyes on the way out the door. Jackson smiles and pats Lisa, Brian, Jaebum, Lia and Yeji pleasantly as they step out into the midnight air.

“Wait, fuck this!” Ten suddenly bursts out, “The night’s not even half way over, I’m not ready to stop!” Matthew and Amber shout in agreement, considerably more wasted than everyone else. Bambam suspects they might have started drinking as early as the bus ride over to the paintball park. Thinking back on it, they weren’t even trying to hide it; the brown paper bags weren’t exactly discreet. 

Jackson smiles fondly at his housemates. “Okay, well maybe you should consider taking this little party over to the bars downtown?” he offers.

“Excellent idea!” Matthew roars, “See, this is why you’re the boss, Jacks. Let’s go!”

The trio flurry around the house, unsteady as they round up their things and stumble out of the house to go wait on the front curb for their driver.

“Don’t wait up!” is the last declaration Ten hollers over his shoulder. 

“50/50 chance they don’t make it back in one piece,” Yugyeom giggles softly, huddled deep into Bambam’s personal space. 

“We’ll be lucky if they’re not a trending twitter topic by the morning,” Bambam agrees. Wow, he is _really_ close now. Yugyeom has a stray eyelash resting on his cheek, and it’s taking up about 90% of Bambam’s thought process at the moment.

The trio’s departure leaves only Jackson, Jinyoung, Bambam and Yugyeom. The couples stand in the foyer, facing one another, and they awkwardly hover in front of the door. It feels almost as if there’s a silent competition going on between them. Jackson’s hand is wound suggestively around Jinyoung’s side, and Bambam thinks he may have incorrect in labeling the pair as exhausted. The antsy look in Jinyoung’s eyes and Jackson’s tight grip seem to be anything but.

“So! My two favorite lovebirds! What are your plans for the rest of the night?” Jackson asks, eyebrows raised in a peculiar mix of impatience and nonchalance.

Yugyeom tilts his head. “I thought you said it was time to head to bed?”

Jackson shakes his head quickly. “Oh, don’t let _me_ tell you what to do, gyeomie. Feel free to go wherever the night takes you! Downtown, streaking, Vegas—anything really!”

Jinyoung lets out a quiet gasp, and, _oh_. It seems Jackson’s hand has relocated itself, to somewhere out of their view. Yep, never gonna be able to get _that_ out of his head.

Yugyeom’s eyes widen in recognition and he splutters.

“Why don’t we head over to my place, Yugyeom? I don’t mind,” Bambam says hurriedly, ushering him out of the door.

Bambam pauses before he exits, hand clutching the white frame.

“Enjoy the empty house, you filthy animals,” he says, and slams the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFF HANGER BABY!
> 
> The thesis of this entire story is that jackson is an evil mastermind and we should all be glad that he uses his powers to just be gay and do crime instead of anything actually serious.
> 
> I think this may be the longest chapter in recorded human history. When I first started writing this fic, I had no idea such a large portion of it would be dedicated to paintball lmfao. Thanks for sitting through it. I'm honestly going to miss the beauty team friendship dynamic, I loved how the relationship between Seokjin and Lia turned out, they're so precious.
> 
> And Kim Yugyeom finally pulled his head out of his ass!!! It's a miracle! 
> 
> I think you know where this about to go soooooo  
> Stay tuned!


	7. In Which Bambam finally does the damn thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we just talk about how so many of the things in this fic actually happened and I didn't even know. Bambam putting makeup on Yugyeom?  
> https://softforjackson.tumblr.com/post/167747788304/i-really-cannt-believe-i-just-sat-there-and 
> 
> Yugyeom helping Bambam hold a bow?  
> https://yugyeompire.tumblr.com/post/157011051408/tell-me-yugbam-is-not-the-most-romantic-ship
> 
> My impact. I recommend you listen to queen lorde’s “Green Light” while reading this chapter, the patron saint of this entire fic 
> 
> Anyways, on to the spice.

"So, this is your room?” Yugyeom asks flippantly, running his inquisitive fingers over the walls and posters. He studies the SZA posters and the glowing string of fairy lights with an approving eye.

Bambam sits back on the bed, watching him. It’s cute, how fascinated Yugyeom is to be in his bedroom. He fumbles with the makeup products on his dresser and the spines of books on the shelf. Bambam doesn’t feel like informing the other that he actually hasn’t read any of them. Jinyoung has been steadily adding to the collection for years, in a passive aggressive attempt to get Bambam to look at something that wasn’t his phone for once.

“Why are you so curious?” Bambam asks lightly. Yugyeom shrinks a little, gingerly setting down the stuffed snake back onto the comforter. He sits gently next to Bambam on the bed, a few respectable inches of space between them.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of interesting to see this part of you. It’s like a little window into your life, that I’ve never seen before," Yugyeom admits, sweet but not timid.

“What kind of things do you have in your room?” Bambam asks, Yugyeom’s response making him intrigued to hear the answer. Cupcake leaps down from where she’s been lounging on the windowsill, and Yugyeom runs a hand down her white fur.

“Nothing special. I’ve got some Brockhampton albums. Oh, and Jackson got me a beanbag for Christmas, it’s pretty sweet,” he brags.

Bambam laughs. “And how did you ever think you were straight?” Yugyeom hits him, “I bet you have a crush on Kevin Abstract, don’t you?” There’s no response.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Kim Yugyeom,” Bambam says.

Yugyeom’s thigh brushes lightly against Bambam’s, and he wonders when they got so close. Bambam swallows.

“It’s been a long day,” he says faintly. 'Maybe it actually _is_ time to turn in,' he thinks, feeling nervous for the first time all night. 

“I know we haven’t really had a chance to talk yet, but I hope I didn’t upset you by kissing you in front of everyone like that,” Yugyeom says, blushing prettily as he does. Bambam grabs his thigh.

“Of course not, Yugyeom!” he assures him, “If you didn’t notice, I was _pretty_ in to it,” Bambam smirks wickedly. Shyly, Yugyeom smiles back. Cupcake jumps down from the bed, sauntering out of the room, as if she sensed the change in the atmosphere.

“But still,” he pushes, “We should probably still talk… right?”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?” he asks in his best attempt at innocence, aiming to make this as difficult as possible on the other. Yugyeom groans, frustrated.

“What do you mean _what—_ forget it. Bambam,” he says seriously, and Bambam turns to him expectantly, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

 _Oh._ He hadn’t expected him to be so… forthcoming. Bambam suddenly feels small, sitting next to this beautiful boy who’s looking at him like he hung the moon on a string. It’s sort of a lot to take in. Bambam is bare-faced, had been since the painball tournament earlier. He hadn't even bothered to put anything on this morning, when he knew he would just sweat it off later. But in this context, just the two of them, with Yugyeom watching him the way he is, Bambam feels a little self-conscious in his most natural state. 

“I’d like that very much, Yugyeom,” he answers quietly, and Yugyeom beams. And it isn’t an earth-shattering change, Bambam getting his first boyfriend, his first proper relationship. The earth continues to spin, and the moonlight keeps streaming in through the high window. But there definitely is _something_ to the way Yugyeom’s dimpling back at him, and the fact that now Bambam can reach out to finally caress that signature dangling earring, if he wanted to.

Yugyeom still looks like he’s gearing up to say something else, and it seems he’s not quite finished with his life-changing confessions for the day. Bambam pats his thigh, patient as he waits. He tries not to pay attention to how the muscles flex unconsciously under the soft touch, because _that’s not what’s important right now_. Yugyeom takes a labored breath.

“I’m gay, Bambam,” he finally says, his eyes shining with unshed tears in the low light.

Bambam understands the apprehension, the fear written across his beautiful features. It’s terrifying to admit, to give a name. To finally let go of the possibility of ever having a ‘normal’ life. Bambam still remembers the day he realized he’ll really never be able to bring home a nice girl to his parents back in Thailand, and for some reason, the revelation hurt him more than any vicious comment or look of disgust ever had.

He crushes Yugyeom in an embrace, letting him rest his head underneath Bambam’s chin. Bambam presses the most tender kiss he can manage to his temple, and Yugyeom exhales shakily. He keeps running a hand through the other’s thick hair, before Yugyeom finally pulls back. His eyes are a little watery but the strength of joy in his smile is enough to overwhelm Bambam.

He just looks so _happy._ If Bambam didn’t have the intimate, first-hand experience he did, he could never comprehend the vastness of the weight that’s been lifted off of Yugyeom’s shoulders.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, Yugyeom?” he asks.

“Um, just a glass of champagne like four hours ago,” Yugyeom replies, a little confused. Bambam smiles.

“Good, me neither,” and Bambam closes the distance between them.

Yugyeom makes a small noise of surprise between their joined mouths, but it quickly melts away into an onslaught of wet heat. One of Yugyeom’s hands flies up to grasp the back of Bambam’s neck, trailing over the short hairs there, like he’s afraid Bambam might pull away if he doesn’t. _What a stupid thought_.

It becomes abundantly clear to Bambam that Yugyeom is a _very_ experienced kisser. He nips at Bambam’s full bottom limp, and uses Bambam’s gasp of surprise to slip in his eager tongue with a practiced ease.

It’s different than the first time they did this. Now, there’s no pressure—no cameras or prying eyes. Just Yugyeom and Bambam, and what feels like all the time in the world.

Bambam never really enjoyed the act of kissing all that much, preferring to get right to the good stuff when his occasional hookups come round. He must have been doing something wrong, though, because the breathy noises Yugyeom is exhaling have Bambam wanting to do nothing else but sit around and make out for the rest of his life.

Eventually, Bambam has to shove Yugyeom back, who still tries to chase Bambam's lips even as he’s pushed away. Bambam can’t think, he can’t even _breath_ , and there’s some things they need to get straight first. 

“Wait, gyeom, _seriously._ I need to know now, what are you comfortable with doing tonight?” Bambam asks, still trying to catch his breath, but also still attempting to be the sensitive, respectful boyfriend he so desperately wants to be.

Panting, leaning lazily against the headboard, Yugyeom looks like the fantasy a younger Bambam would’ve conjured up. Pieced together by bits of teen heartthrob magazines and stolen glances in the locker room, made to dull the sharp ache of loneliness that always awaited him at the end of the school day.

He almost seems too perfect to be real. But, at the same time, Bambam knows that’s not true. He knows firsthand about the weird quirks and insecurities that Yugyeom harbors, just like everyone else on the planet. And those imperfections make everything that much _better._

The brunette leans forward again.

“Anything you want, Bambam,” the words puff across Bambam’s parted lips, and Yugyeom dives in to litter kisses along the sharp juncture of his jaw. 

Yugyeom’s going to be little tease about this, he can just tell already.

“You’re kind of easy, aren’t you?” Bambam teases; the impact of it is undercut by the moan a particularly hard suck just beneath his Adam’s apple draws out of him. His fingers fumble to start unbuttoning the younger’s shirt, and Yugyeom draws back to help him.

“Only for you babe,” he winks, and he shoves his shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders.

Miles and miles of pale, unbearably soft looking-skin and dark ink is revealed. Taking in the enraptured expression on Bambam’s face (really, he probably couldn’t look away if he tried), Yugyeom’s confidence finally starts to waver. Bambam’s trails a hesitant hand over Yugyeom’s side, tracing over the dandelion tattoo on his ribs that he’d only caught glimpses of before. A dust of pink begins to appear on Yugyeom's high cheekbones.

“You too,” he whines, grasping at the bottom of Bambam’s uncharacteristically plain t-shirt. Bambam can’t help but laugh at how cute Yugyeom’s being right now, but he complies quickly.

As soon as the offending article is tossed aside, Bambam gasps at the wet mouth that engulfs his nipple, perking up against the cold of the room. His hand’s thread into soft hair, trying to find some kind of purchase against the new sensation.

Soft _ah’s_ fall involuntarily out of Bambam’s bruised mouth. Yugyeom only seems to take the noises as encouragement, his tongue swirling around the pebbled bud until Bambam almost wants to pull away at how tender the area feels.

“How are you so good at this?” he laughs breathlessly. Yugyeom laughs too, and presses one last kiss to the pink, abused skin.

“Compulsory heterosexuality is one hell of a drug,” he replies, wry.

That makes Bambam pause. Images of Yugyeom kissing and teasing some pretty girl in this same way, her dainty fingers tugging desperately right where Bambam’s are, invade his mind. Suddenly, Bambam can’t help but compare himself to this unnamed girl, wondering how he stacks up to whatever she gave to Yugyeom. While Yugyeom seems to enjoy the whimpers that escape out of Bambam’s mouth, they’ll never be as high and sweet as a woman’s. The narrow, angular planes of his body are inexcusably masculine, and for a moment, Bambam worries how Yugyeom will react when he inevitably realizes this.

Bambam’s spiral is interrupted by a soft kiss just beneath his navel.

Yugyeom’s face is mere inches away from the bulge pressing painfully against Bambam’s zipper. At some point, he had relocated to the floor, and now he pushes apart Bambam’s legs to rest comfortably in between them. Bambam’s heart stutters at the sight.

“You… You don’t have to Yugyeom-ah,” he stammers, thoughts derailed by the warm rush of breath across his crotch. Yugyeom peers back at him.

“I want to, though,” he says, resting his head against Bambam’s thigh. And that certainly sounds like enthusiastic consent to Bambam, so he gives up on his half-hearted protests.

Yugyeom unzips him with wide-eyed curiosity, helping Bambam shrug off his tight pants. He pauses at the black Calvin Klein boxers, and Bambam opens his mouth to reassure him.

Yugyeom mouths wetly through the dark fabric, trying to get a feel of the hard member trapped inside. Rather than the intended ‘ _Seriously it’s okay if you don’t want to’_ , broken moans spill out instead. Bambam lifts his hips to aid in Yugyeom’s frantic attempt to tug the material down.

Bambam’s tip is already leaking, and Yugyeom brings up a hand to tentatively spread the fluid across the flushed head. Bambam whimpers pathetically, the contact so minimal, compared to everything else he’s ever done, but still too much at the same time.

Yugyeom’s watching him. Trying to gauge his reactions to certain touches. He’s a quick learner, Bambam will give him that. He finally, _finally_ closes a fist around him, jerking him at a languid pace. Bambam lets his head falls back on to the sheet, unable to maintain the burning eye contact Yugyeom’s trying to make.

“ _Yugyeom,_ it’s not enough, I need more—" Yugyeom’s hands leave Bambam’s cock to grip his hips when the older tries to thrust up hopelessly, in search of friction.

Yugyeom is careful when he presses the first kiss to Bambam’s length, kittenish, just below the head. An involuntary shiver runs up Bambam's spine at the coy touch of his lips. It's not long before Yugyeom graduates onto licking hot stripes up the shaft, clearly getting swept away in the feeling of it. Bambam doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the mind-numbing sensation of suction or the knowledge that he’s helping in the realization of one of Yugyeom’s biggest sexual fantasies, one he’s been dreaming about for god knows how long.

“You’re doing so good, gyeomie, fuck, feels so good,” he murmurs, and Yugyeom fervidly tries to take him in even deeper.

He gags, and has to pull off the length to cough a few times. Bambam thumbs soothingly at Yugyeom’s now slick chin.

“Sweetheart, you have to remember to relax your jaw, okay? You have to breathe through your nose, too,” he instructs him gently, and Yugyeom nods. The watery sheen in his dark brown eyes is so obvious, heart-stopping all on its own. 

Yugyeom returns with a restored zeal. Mouthing at Bambam’s dick, he lets what he lacks in experience be more than made up for in enthusiasm. He moves his hand to touch what he can’t reach with his mouth, sliding over the base and teasing Bambam’s balls every now and then. Yugyeom is letting out tiny moans around Bambam—raw and unintentional. He tightens his grip in Yugyeom's hair, and intellectually, Bambam knows they waited this long for good reason. Still, he can't help but mourn at all the wasted time where they could have been doing _this_ instead.

"You like it _so_ much," Bambam marvels out loud, more of an internal realization than an actual comment.

Yugyeom hears it anyway. The younger tries to nod desperately, but Bambam steadies him, the action disrupting the rhythm he is quickly becoming addicted to. Yugyeom groans louder, vibrating against Bambam's sensitive skin, and Bambam sees him reach down to palm himself through the damp fabric of his shorts. 

Suddenly, Yugyeom’s cheeks hollow out as he begins sucking harder than before, mindlessly swallowing around Bambam like he was fucking born to do it. His nails, digging into the private flesh at the junction Bambam's leg and hip to keep him in place, feel like white-hot brands. Marking him as Yugyeom's, from now until forever. The wet sounds that fill the room make Bambam want to crawl out of his skin, in the best way possible. He feels the tight-rope of tension in the pit of his stomach start to unravel.

“Yugyeom, _ah,_ I’m close,” he tries to warn, but Yugyeom just continues his ministrations, eyes clenched shut in anticipation.

Bambam has to drag Yugyeom off with a wet _pop_. Yugyeom grins at him, and Bambam hoists him back up to the bed. Yugyeom’s knees are red from where they’ve been digging into the carpet, and, inexplicably, this small detail makes Bambam flush more than anything else so far.

“Why’d you stop me?” Yugyeom asks, voice wrecked, but still completely shameless.

“You think I just want to blow my load like teenager before I can even get a hand on you?” Bambam says back, faking annoyance. Yugyeom smirks.

“So, it was good, is that what I’m hearing?” Yugyeom says, cupping his hand around his ear teasingly as he waits for Bambam’s response.

“It wasn’t bad.” Bambam huffs. Yugyeom leans in and winds his arms around Bambam’s waist, who leans away, annoyed.

“Oh, really? Cause I seem to recall you saying differently just a minute ago. _Oh, Yugyeomie, it feels so good, keep going, just like that,”_ Yugyeom moans obnoxiously into Bambam’s ear. Bambam finally breaks, laughing as he shoves the taller man away.

“Seriously, though, I stopped because I didn’t want the night to end here,” Bambam says, willing Yugyeom to pick up on the implicit meaning in his words. Yugyeom’s eyes widen.

“ _Ah._ I see,” Yugyeom says, “Well. I would definitely be down to see... where _else_ it might lead us to.” Bambam links their hands together, seeing Yugyeom fidgeting with edge of the bedspread.

“Have you ever done this before?” Bambam asks.

“Yes,” Yugyeom confesses, “But not… not one that ever really counted.”

Bambam nods. “I’ll walk you through it, then.”

“Have you?” Yugyeom asks, half-expecting the answer already. Bambam takes a moment to consider.

“Not with anyone else,” he says finally, and Yugyeom looks surprised.

“Not even Chris?” he tightens their entwined hands, another one of his unconscious habits.

“Jealously isn’t a good look on you, Yugyeom-ah,” Bambam says, smiling, and Yugyeom looks chagrined.

Bambam can’t help but think of how they seem to fit together in this situation.

Yugyeom, who’s past of sleeping with women prevents him from being completely clueless, but unhelpful in stifling the anxiety in a situation like this, where it actually matters. Bambam, who’s no stranger when it comes to penetration and the intimate mechanics of this kind of activity, but who also refrained from ever letting any of his past flings get this far. It always felt too intimate, wrong in the moment, so he just never did. He still doesn’t know what it’s like to have another person _inside_ of him, but now he’s kind of curious to find out.

Both their experiences and their inexperience compliment each other, leaving a clear-cut path for them to follow, and still allowing them to discover new things together. Bambam stops his thoughts before they start wandering off into ridiculous territory, like notions of fate or destiny.

“Top right drawer,” he says instead, and Yugyeom goes to retrieve the lube.

“Condoms?” he asks, coming up with only the clear bottle in his hands.

“I’m clean if you are,” Bambam shrugs. He’s pretty sure he won’t be wanting to do this with anyone else but Yugyeom for the foreseeable future, anyway. Yugyeom nods breathlessly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Jackson makes me get tested all the time.” Before Bambam has time to absorb the absurdity of that statement, Yugyeom is popping open the cap and spreading a generous amount onto his fingers.

Bambam maneuvers himself into a more comfortable position, shoving a pillow under the small of his back for good measure. He feels a hesitant finger prod at his entrance, and he hisses at the sensation.

“Rub your fingers together, Yugyeom, it’s too cold when it comes right out of the bottle.” Yugyeom giggles as he does what he’s told. “I’m good to go when you are.”

Yugyeom swallows, and then nudges the tip of his index in carefully. It’s been a while since Bambam’s actually done anything like this, too caught up in life and work to set aside the time, so it’s a little sharper than normal. At Bambam’s soft nod, Yugyeom slips in another digit.

“Start to move a little, ok babe? Think of making a scissoring motion,” Bambam guides, sighing breathily when Yugyeom follows the advice.

“Thought about this a lot,” Bambam admits, a little delirious from the smooth drag of Yugyeom’s fingers sliding in and out of his velvety walls. The pace he’s working up is punishing, but Bambam can’t bring himself to complain as his cock twitches when Yugyeom adds in a third finger.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Yugyeom asks, before moving to bite at the sensitive skin of Bambam’s thigh. He yelps, and Yugyeom laps at the spot apologetically. It’s going to bruise, and the thought makes Bambam dizzy.

“You. Your fingers, inside me, fucking me just like you’re doing now,” Bambam whispers shakily. “I did this, after the wet-t shirt competition. Couldn’t stop thinking about you doing it for me instead.”

Yugyeom groans, his fingers thrusting deeper than they had been before, and they finally brush against _that_ spot. A violent gasp gets torn out of Bambam’s throat, and he drives his hips downward to meet Yugyeom’s pace. Bambam’s legs start to tremble, and he can feel the sting of tears start to well up. Yugyeom’s fingers slow, startled by the reaction.

“Is that good?” he searches for confirmation, an edge apprehensive, afraid he might’ve done something wrong or hurt Bambam.

“ _Very_ good,” Bambam promises, and Yugyeom resumes confidently.

“After the competition,” Yugyeom starts. His eyes are transfixed where his hand is disappearing inside Bambam, lube dripping messily onto the sheets. He uses his free hand to spread Bambam wider, like he’s trying to get a better look at the obscene sight. “I couldn’t get your dance out of my head. I ran back to my cabin and I... I thought about it," he whispers, a guilty prayer in the dead of the night. 

"I felt so bad about it afterward, it's like I _had_ to go and tell you, but I froze up when I saw you standing at the door. So, I only told you part of the story.”

“I wasn’t ready then, but I’m ready now, Bamie,” Yugyeom tells him, “ _God,_ I’m so ready.”

Bambam stops Yugyeom’s unrelenting wrist when he feels his orgasm swiftly approaching.

“Me too,” he pants, and Yugyeom snaps out of his frenzy, “So why don’t you get ready for the next part?”

Yugyeom’s fingers retreat, and Bambam feels himself clench reflexively at the sudden emptiness. Bambam reaches over to grab the lube, coating his hand in the glistening liquid. Yugyeom shoves his shorts and boxers off in one motion, the ones he had forgotten to take off in his haste to touch his boyfriend. Slowly, Bambam starts to palm Yugyeom’s flushed length, spreading the lubricant thoroughly in preparation. Yugyeom gasps and whines unabashedly at the touch, and Bambam wants to smack himself for waiting this long to touch Yugyeom properly.

“How do you want me?” Bambam asks. He quirks an eyebrow and smirks as he does—cheesy confidence that he isn’t actually feeling at the moment. 

“Can you just lay down like this? Don’t wanna miss anything,” Yugyeom murmurs back, and just the way he says it has Bambam scrambling to comply.

He falls back, bare skin hitting the thick cotton sheets. After a short moment of consideration, Bambam settles for spreading as wide as he can so that Yugyeom can position himself the way he wants. There’s warm, guiding palms on his thighs as Yugyeom moves closer and steals all the space left between them. Bambam never thought that the first time he got fucked, it would be in the most vanilla-style possible, missionary; like they were common heterosexuals.

You have to make sacrifices for the ones you love, he supposes.

Yugyeom’s dark, lidded eyes meet Bambam’s.

“Read—”

“Yugyeom, if you don’t stop asking me if I’m ready and just put your dick in me already, I will tell Jackson that you’re the one who threw all of his Wang tank tops into the garbage.” Yugyeom closes his mouth.

He lines himself up, and slowly pushes in. Bambam has to remind himself not to tense up, as each inch pushes past the tight ring of muscles. He takes deep, even breaths that are occasionally interrupted by overwhelmed mewls that escape. Yugyeom isn’t small, and Bambam struggles to accommodate him, not necessarily bigger than the toys he’s accustomed to, just new.

Once Yugyeom is fully seated, they both pause to catch their breaths. Yugyeom’s hips are completely flush with Bambam’s ass, and it’s a jarring feeling, but he thinks he likes it.

“How is it?” Yugyeom asks, all genuine concern and vigilance. His hands clutch around Bambam’s waist so tightly, there will probably be indents of his fingertips there in the morning. Bambam nods.

“’s good, babe. Feels so full. You can start to move,” he breathes.

Yugyeom’s body seems to take over, and this part Bambam doesn’t have to advise him on. It’s slow and deliberate, in the beginning. They rock together, mindful as they get to know the intimate contours of one another's bodies.

Yugyeom pulls out almost the entire way, just the head remaining inside, before he slams back in all at once. Bambam’s entire body bounces with the motion, his head dragging roughly against the mattress. Bambam scrambles to connect their hands again, setting their joined palms on either side of his head. He almost wants to gag at how cheesy the action is, but he doesn't deny himself the impulse. Yugyeom's touch anchors Bambam in the unfamiliar storm of feelings and vulnerability. He has to recognize the warm glow that settles in his stomach is not from arousal alone.

An unusual sound pervades Bambam’s haze of pleasure; the one that had only been building at the increasing speed of Yugyeom’s thrusts.

“Gyeom, are you crying?” Bambam asks incredulously, after taking in the sight of Yugyeom’s teary eyes and furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry, Bam,” he rushes to apologize, “I just…. I didn’t know it could feel like this.” Yugyeom chokes on his own words as his rhythm falters.

Bambam tugs the other down by his wild, sweaty hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Bambam kisses him, and it’s insufferably sweet in light of the situation at large. Bambam kisses away the tears at the corners of his eyes, trailing down his cheeks, dripping off of his jaw.

Yugyeom hikes one of Bambam’s long, tan legs over his shoulder. The change in angle has them both groaning, Bambam’s raspy moans mingling in the air with Yugyeom’s high keens.

Bambam slings the other leg over Yugyeom’s pale shoulder, and the dancer’s hips, the ones that have been taunting him since the very first time he saw them, pound into him relentlessly. Their skin slaps together, undeniable in the quiet apartment, and Bambam is _so_ grateful that Jinyoung is over at Jackson’s right now. _Ew, abort thought, abort._

Bambam’s body is halfway off the mattress now. His back arches precariously in the air, in a manner that will leave him sore in more ways than one, but he couldn’t care less. Yugyeom’s steady hands control his every movement. It makes Bambam’s blood simmer, just how at Yugyeom’s mercy he is.

He tries to move his hips back to meet Yugyeom’s anyway, and he knows he can’t hold on much longer.

“I’m close, Bamie,” Yugyeom gasps, every syllable staccato and wrecked. He closes a hand around Bambam’s neglected cock, and sluttiness of Bambam’s answering sob surprises even him. Yugyeom strokes him in time to the roll of their bodies, murmuring soft praises against Bambam’s ankle.

“You’re so pretty like this, babe. Always pretty, but you look so good for me right now,” Yugyeom says, like the words are being punched out of him. He forces Bambam to meet his gaze, and Bambam can barely stand the intimacy of it, the position they’re in. Bambam’s never felt more exposed, and Yugyeom drinks the sight in intently, trying to memorize every single detail.

In the end, it’s the one-two punch of Yugyeom’s teasing thumb against his leaking tip and the sharp tweak he gives his nipple that sends Bambam toppling violently over the edge.

Bambam comes with an embarrassing, high-pitched moan, seizing up around Yugyeom, who groans at the pressure. Yugyeom keeps a hand on Bambam’s cock throughout his release, prolonging the sensation as long as he can. Bambam spills cum onto his own chest, painting the bronze skin white.

Yugyeom keeps moving inside of Bambam, but his erratic motions show he won’t last much longer. Bambam lets him chase his release, caressing Yugyeom encouragingly everywhere he can reach. His hand trails over the dark words “ _Trust Me”_ , etched onto his upper arm.

“Come on, Yugyeom. Come for me,” he whispers.

“Bambam, _fuck,_ I _can’t,”_ Yugyeom stutters to halt, twitching and coming with a bitten off groan. _Wow,_ that’s a new feeling, Bambam thinks. It’s warm and sticky, a bit disgusting, but like in sort of a sexy way. Bambam doesn’t want to think about any possible new kinks of his right now.

Yugyeom collapses onto the bed next to him, still sheathed inside of Bambam. Like this, they have to look directly into each other’s eyes, but Bambam doesn't object. Yugyeom is a vision, with his matted auburn hair and shining pale skin. Bambam brushes over his favorite mole, and Yugyeom’s eyes flutter close. The only sound in the room now is their labored breathing.

“That was…” Yugyeom starts.

“Yeah,” Bambam agrees, and they both laugh.

“Can you get out of me now, please, we have to clean up,” he says, exhausted but still unwilling to wake up to dried cum stains all over his nice sheets.

His skin was less of concern; he’d heard online somewhere semen was actually good for your skin, but he can’t be bothered to test that theory tonight. Yugyeom reluctantly complies, and Bambam can’t control the way his face contorts at the suddenly aching loss.

After Bambam’s changed the sheets, he hands Yugyeom a clean pair of boxers and a damp towel ( _“You’re disgusting”_ he had said, Yugyeom sticking his tongue out childishly). Yugyeom slips into the loosest pair of underwear Bambam could find, which is still indecently tight on him. Instead of using the towel on himself, Yugyeom sets to work wiping down Bambam’s chest, gently trailing over the backs of his thighs. _Damn Kim Yugyeom and his stupidly kind heart and beautiful face._

The two of them settle under the fresh covers, and Bambam flicks off the lights. They tangle their legs together, Yugyeom’s broad chest bracketing Bambam’s back snugly. Bambam’s eyes are already starting to drift close, subdued by the warmth of the blanket cocoon and his post-orgasm glow. He can’t stop the sleepy profession that slips out.

“Love you.”

Bambam freezes in Yugyeom’s limp arms. He lets out a relieved sigh when he realizes that Yugyeom’s probably already asleep. He snuggles deeper into the younger’s embrace and closes his eyes for real this time.

“Love you too,” sleepily rumbles against Bambam’s neck.

3AM is far too early in the morning to be freaking out about profound feelings and confessions, so Bambam decides to leave the realm of the waking entirely.

* * *

“Episode one of the Youtuber Olympics goes live in three, two, one—”

The small gathering of friends cheer heartily as the video appears on Jackson’s grotesquely huge flat screen. They raise their respective drinks and bottles, the tinkle of glass sounding softly as they bring them together. The overall vibe in the room is immaculate. Yugyeom and Bambam clink their wine flutes together, simple red for Yugyeom and sparkling for Bambam. Bambam likes to call them their “fancy bitches” glasses.

At last, Jackson makes his appearance, after the long, dramatic intro.

“Why didn’t you ask me to your makeup that day Jackson? I would’ve loved to do a sexy gold look like that on you,” Bambam asks, the question nagging in the back of his mind ever since the opening ceremonies transpired.

“I wanted to ask Jinyoung to do it, but you both got there so _late,_ Amber had to step instead.” Jackson says casually.

All the makeup artists in the room send over impressed looks towards Amber, who shrugs. Lisa climbs over Bambam to high-five the short-haired woman (“ _Watch the Champagne!”_ he shrieks).

“You ever considered a different career as a beauty guru, Amber?” Bambam asks, once he’s steadied his glass.

Amber rolls her eyes and shoves Bambam lightly, who screams again.

“I’m really going to spill this wine all over Jackson’s nice couch if you guys don’t stop fucking around!” he threatens. Jackson looks vaguely concerned, sitting on the floor tucked between Jinyoung’s legs, before he returns his attention back to the TV.

It’s entertaining, Bambam allows, as they watch in relative peace. Jackson’s a talented host, a fact they already knew, but it comes to life in an entirely new way on the screen. The chemistry’s good, off the bat, between the teams, the members seeming natural and happy to be there as they interact. He can see, easily, if he were simply a viewer watching at home, how he would go absolutely crazy over this kind of stuff.

Bambam groans when he and Yugyeom show up on screen. They look so young and clueless, even though this was filmed only a couple of months ago. Bambam’s blond now, and Yugyeom’s light brown hair has been traded for a short, dark cut instead. It makes him look very dashing, in Bambam’s humble opinion. He can’t help but marvel at the difference in their demeanors, cringing as their stolen, but still very noticeable glances across the field are captured for the entire internet to see.

Jinyoung coos. “Aww, look at our oblivious little babies. You guys are so obvious it’s cute~”

“Don’t act like you have the high ground here, hyung,” Yugyeom laughs, gesturing to where a sparkling Jackson drapes himself over Jinyoung during the final leg of the relay.

“So much for judge impartiality,” Matthew complains jokingly.

“I would _never_ do anything to fix the results of the competitions, and I resent the implication, sir. It’s not my fault Jinyoung’s as much of a beast on the field as he is—”

The rest of the sentence is muffled against Jinyoung’s hand.

“I’d like to apologize for Jackson’s… everything, really. _Ugh, gross,_ Jackson!” Jinyoung pulls his hand away, wiping it on the other’s pants. Bambam can’t blame Jackson for his childishness, because Bambam would’ve done the same thing (has done the same thing, many times).

Ten glances up from his phone. “Everyone’s going apeshit on twitter. Mission accomplished, Jackson,” he informs them, “I do have to say though, half of these comments are about the unbearable amount of sexual tension between just about every player.”

“It’s only going to get worse as more episodes are released,” Mark says wisely.

Matthew suddenly barks out a laugh, peering over Ten’s shoulder at the phone. “Here’s one shipping Bambam and JB together. _Did you see the thirst on Bam’s face when he looked at Jayb coming out of the house, he totally wants that d”_

Bambam looks over to where Jaebum’s sitting, and he looks at Bambam too, before they both quickly avert their gazes. Yugyeom puts a protective arm around Bambam and blows a raspberry at JB, which effectively diffuses the weird tension. Jaebum huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

Bambam places an exaggerated, smacking kiss on Yugyeom’s cheek. The rest of their friends either groan or squeal at the display, with the exception of Lisa, who just watches on with a terribly fond expression.

The showing comes to an end, and Jackson suggests they all take advantage of the pool in the pleasant June heat. The group, already agreeable from the satisfaction of a successful premier and the buzz of alcohol, accepts the proposal readily.

As they all rush over to the backyard, their lively chatter echoing off the hallways of Jackson’s home, Bambam feels warm. Regardless of what the Internet might speculate, Bambam is satisfied with what he sees when he looks around him. His career, his friends, his boyfriend. _Boyfriend;_ no matter how many times Bambam says the word, it still fills him a sense of awe.

Yugyeom grins at him. “Do you want to see me do a flip?” he asks eagerly, already preparing for the jump. 

“Yugyeom, _don’t,_ you broke your shin last time you tried this,” Jackson warns.

There’s music filling the air, the sounds of laughter and concern ringing out in tandem. The giant wave of water drenches Bambam, and everyone else unfortunate enough to be standing too close to the splash-zone.

He thinks to himself that he must be the luckiest son of bitch in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fuckboi laugh* ahahahaha
> 
> So, there it is! I'll probably upload an epilogue at some point, with some more smut and gross domesticity, but the main overarching story is completed. What a journey it's been. Yugbam's my favorite ship of all time, so it was truly a privilege to provide a long(ish) fic where they're the main couple for my fellow yugbaminators. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Epilogue (Or In Which Choi Youngjae makes a cameo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just smut and fluff so you don't need to read... unless you're into that sort of t h i n g 
> 
> (Also how about that comeback tho)

“Do we really have to do this?” 

“Quit your whining Yugyeom,” Bambam hushes him, “If we didn’t do this, we would be complete shams of influencers.”

“Jackson’s posting the finale this afternoon,” Jinyoung adds helpfully from behind the camera, “It’s all that anyone will be talking about anyway.”

“Okay, okay,” Yugyeom holds his hands up, “I can see when I’m outnumbered. It’s going on _your_ face, anyway, not mine.”

Jinyoung raises his hand to signal he’s about to start recording.

“Hey guys!” Bambam immediately snaps into Youtuber mode at the sight of the blinking red light.

“I guess we should start off with this, first things first. Yes, it is true. For the first time in my life, I have successfully battled my way out of the friendzone.” Yugyeom pounds his fist against Bambam’s shoulder, something he’s become very accustomed to over the past few months.

“I know part of my whole brand is like that super relatable, ‘forever alone’ chic, and honestly, I loved that for us. Really though, I never could’ve prepared for _this_ guy coming along and ruining my perfect rejection streak.” Bambam lovingly grabs the back of Yugyeom’s baseball cap, manhandling his boyfriend as he speaks animatedly. The beauty guru sees Yugyeom trying not to laugh through the viewfinder. It’s a familiar expression, Yugyeom’s lips pressed together tightly, bringing out the little indents of his smile lines.

“Today’s video is kind of a mashup—Boyfriend Does My Makeup/Boyfriend Tag challenge type of situation. And we have our trusty moderator Jinyoung behind the camera to make sure everything stays PG-13. So, what do you know about makeup, Yugyeom?” Bambam takes off his thick-framed glasses, the ones Jinyoung always tells him make him look like a mean CEO, setting them on the table delicately.

(What did Jinyoung know about fashion, anyway? Bambam has seen the man’s closet, and there are more than enough grandpa sweaters and khakis to disqualify someone from giving advice about clothes, ever.)

“Pretty much only whatever you’ve told me,” Yugyeom replies, “I’m pretty sure this is eyeliner, right?” Yugyeom holds up a sleek brow pencil, weighing it in his hands.

“This is going to go as well as you’re expecting,” Bambam says. Jinyoung clears his throat, looking down at the sheet of paper in his hands.

“Let’s start with the questions, shall we?” he says in his perfect impression of a substitute teacher waiting for the class to settle down. “What were your first impressions of each other?”

Yugyeom picks up a compact of foundation and examines it nervously. He unscrews it and brings it up to his nose to take a cautious whiff. Bambam squints at him, disapproving.

“Wait, shouldn’t I be allowed to help him?” he asks.

“No, and stop messing around and answer the question,” Jinyoung reprimands lightly.

“I don’t know. I thought he was hot, obviously,” Yugyeom laughs, surprised by Bambam’s honesty, “I also thought he was probably a fuck boy, and to be fair I was right. Good thing you’ve changed so much for me, right babe?”

Bambam puckers his lips cartoonishly and Yugyeom squishes his cheeks. “Cut it out! God, now I know why you always tell me to stay still when you do this, that’s so annoying.”

“What about you, gyeom?” Jinyoung prompts.

Yugyeom discards the concealer after dabbing a few spots on, seemingly having given up on skincare as he dives straight into the eye makeup.

“My first impression of Bambam?” he muses, opening up a fancy pallet that Bambam warns him costed a fortune. “Well, I already knew who he was before we met. I guess my first thought was that he was even cuter in person than I thought he would be,” he says nonchalantly, like he wasn't being the most cliché, heart-fluttering boyfriend ever.

“If you thought I was cute from the very beginning, how come it took you three months to do anything about it?” Bambam teases, willing himself not to say a word when Yugyeom uses a peach blush as eyeshadow.

“Not fair!” the younger whines, “I was going through a very intense sexual awakening, okay? _Lots_ of baggage to unpack.” Yugyeom’s innocent tone and earnest eyes do not match the subject matter in the slightest.

“You better hope your mom doesn’t watch this video,” Jinyoung snickers.

“I banned my mom from watching any content with me in it years ago,” Yugyeom shrugs, “The internet is no place for mothers anyway.”

“These questions are boring, hyung,” Bambam complains and Yugyeom makes a noise of agreement, distracted with formulating a plan to tackle applying the eyeliner.

“Don’t use the liquid, babe, you’ll make a mess,” Bambam says. Jinyoung throws his hands up in frustration.

“I’ve only asked _one_ question—never mind, whatever. What’s the weirdest habit the other person has?” Jinyoung asks. He’s still subtly trying to read off the list. Bambam lets him, only trying to tease his friend in the first place.

“Oh, Yugyeom has this weird thing where he likes to grab my tiddy!” He suddenly exclaims. “I can just be having a normal conversation with someone and Yugyeom will come up behind me and go,” Bambam squeezes Yugyeom’s chest in recreation of the action. “I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, cause’ he’ll just start talking like nothing even happened afterwards.”

“Oh yeah, well Bambam likes to bite me,” Yugyeom shoots back, with the cadence of tattling child, “And it’s not even like a sexy thing, if I leave my leg off the side of the couch or the bed, he _will_ come up and bite it.”

“I can’t help it! Your legs are just so pale! They mock me, all out in the open like that,” Bambam defends passionately, making Yugyeom smudge the liner and curse.

Jinyoung laughs at them from behind his hand, and Bambam wants to remind him he doesn’t have to do that anymore. “Okay, let’s do some quick lightning round questions. I’ll ask, and then you respond with whoever you think fits the description more.” They both nod, Yugyeom frantically dabbing makeup wipes at Bambam’s skin to salvage his work.

“Who spends the longest time getting ready?”

“Bambam,” they say in unison.

“Who gets the most jealous?” Bambam opens his mouth but pauses, and Yugyeom mirrors the action.

“You would think it would be me, but it’s probably Yugyeom,” Bambam answers after a moment, “Maybe not jealous, he’s just a little possessive. Remember when you told Lisa to back off, when she was fixing my hair at Amber’s birthday party? _Lisa,_ of all people _._ ”

“I think we both get jealous sometimes, just in different ways,” Yugyeom hums, “Don’t tell me you don’t get into cat fights with girls every time we go clubbing because you think they’re flirting with me.” Bambam can’t say anything, having been read to filth.

“Who tops and who bottoms?” They both protest immediately.

“Come on, Jinyoung, really?” Bambam says, puckering his lips when Yugyeom motions for him to, holding up a pretty coral lip balm.

Jinyoung whiskers back at him, bringing his shoulders up in an innocent shrug. “The people want to know!” Bambam flicks his wrist dismissively; _Next question_ _._

“Who said I love you first?” Bambam blushes at the memory bubbling back up.

“Bambam did,” Yugyeom says, smug and tender in a combination that really shouldn’t be able to coexist, but somehow he manages. _Great, so he does remember…_ He glares weakly, but Yugyeom just smirks back at him. 

"What? I said it back, didn't I?" Bambam flicks him on the nose.

Jinyoung rattles off a few more questions, obviously going off the top of his head now. They’re funny; Jinyoung’s always been sharp, and Bambam can feel in his bones that the video is going to turn out well. He’s been doing this long enough to where he has the beats memorized, can see a sketch of the finished product in his mind even as they’re still creating it.

At one point Jinyoung asks what the most emotional moment of their relationship has been so far, and there’s a long stretch of silence Bambam knows he’ll have to cut out later. He wonders if Yugyeom is thinking about the same thing as him. 

The memory of Yugyeom clutching Bambam’s hand on the porch of Jackson’s backyard, the dial tone of his phone as loud as a gunshot in the quiet afternoon comes to mind. He remembers the artificially light tone of Yugyeom’s voice as he greeted his mom and dad over the speaker call. The way his voice broke as he introduced Bambam as his boyfriend, too nervous to do it in person without testing their reactions first. 

There had been questions, and tears, and a copious amount of “I love you’s” exchanged before Yugyeom was hanging up with a promise to bring Bambam around to meet his parents as soon as possible. Bambam can still see the way Yugyeom had let out a relieved laugh afterwards, running around the patio. How he was unable to contain his elation, molding his large hands to Bambam’s hips so he could twirl him around in the air. He had insisted they go to their favorite dance club immediately, Jackson and Jinyoung too, wether they liked it or not. 

Yugyeom had never been one to dwell on the heavy stuff, anyway. He’d suck it up when he had to, but Bambam’s come to realize that Yugyeom much prefers to focus on the positives, a habit Bambam tries to let rub off on himself. Optimism had never been his strong suit, but it’s hard to be cynical in the face of Yugyeom’s dazzling grin and puppy eyes.

Bambam keeps these thoughts to himself. He fiddles with the expensive watch on Yugyeom’s free wrist instead, and he hopes it can convey at least some of the feelings filling up his chest. 

“Okay, I’m done!” Yugyeom declares, handing Bambam the mirror so he can admire his efforts.

“Wow, it’s actually not that bad, for a first-timer,” Bambam says, feeling a small flash of pride at Yugyeom’s skills. Jinyoung brings the camera in closer to get a better look.

“Oh yeah, nice job Yugyeom-ah!” Jinyoung praises, “You’ve got an eye for color palettes. The eyeshadow and the lip go pretty well together.”

Yugyeom gets up out of his seat, pumping his fist in the air at the compliment.

“Alright, settle down, you still tried to use mascara to fill my eyebrows in so don’t get too cocky,” Bambam rolls his eyes.

“You’re just worried I’m coming for your gig,” Yugyeom retorts, taking a seat once again. He slides his chair closer to Bambam’s so he can plaster himself to the elder’s side the way he loves to. Bambam lets him, secretly basking in the glow of domesticity that radiates off of them. He turns to the camera so he can start the outro.

“So that’s the secret, out of the bag at last. Not like we could really hide anything after that grand finale, huh?” Bambam says to Yugyeom. “What can I say, he’s a romantic.”

“To all of you who have been calling it since the first episode, congratulations, you knew us better than we did! Enjoy shoving your superior romance-sensing skills in all of your friends faces, you’ve earned it.”

“Once again, thank you so much for watching, a big thanks to my boyfriend for being in this video,” Yugyeom gives a small wave, “You never thought you’d live to see the day, did ya? I’m giving all you girlies hope out there, _it is possible!”_

He feels Yugyeom nuzzle into his neck, subtly. Yugyeom knows that the self-deprecation is just part of Bambam’s shtick, but hearing the words come out of the older man’s mouth still triggers his overprotective-boyfriend instincts. He wants to interrupt Bambam, to tell him that it’s _him_ who’s the lucky one in their relationship. Yugyeom resists, letting the Thai boy rattle on instead. There will be plenty of time to tell him in private, anyway. Preferably with a lot more cuddling, too. 

“You can find Yugyeom over on Jackson’s channel, and go ahead and give Jackson some love while you’re there—tell him I sent you. As always, thanks to our big brother Jinyoungie behind the camera, and I will see you all in the next video! Bye!” Bambam blows a kiss at the camera, and Jinyoung presses the power button.

“I’m disgusted by how cute you two are. I don’t know if your viewers will be able to handle this video,” Jinyoung says, already moving to begin cleaning up the mess of products Yugyeom left behind in his frenzy. _God he’s such a mom._

“Now you know how we feel watching you and Jackson all the time,” Bambam chirps, using a wipe to start removing the makeup from his face.

“Wait, you’re taking it off already?” Yugyeom whines.

“Sorry, gyeomie. I said it was alright for a first attempt. That doesn’t mean it was good,” Bambam pats his boyfriend’s cheek sympathetically.

“Oh, Yugyeom,” Jinyoung suddenly speaks up, “Your phone has been going off for about half an hour now. I just turned it off after a while, didn’t want to mess with the flow of the video, you know?” Jinyoung hands Yugyeom the phone absently.

It lights up in Yugyeom’s hands, displaying 5 missed calls from Jackson and countless other text messages from Mark, Amber, and Ten.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot we were supposed to start shooting something today at 3,” he whispers, and Bambam feels his blood run cold just at the tone of his voice. Yugyeom jumps up from his chair, and frantically rushes around the studio, collecting his jacket, keys, wallet, and shoes. All the while, he mutters profanities to himself. Bambam hears a distressed, “I’m going to lose my fucking job, Jackson’s going to kick me out onto the streets.”

He takes a final look around the room—spinning a couple times, like a dog chasing its tail—double-checking that he hasn’t forgotten anything.

“I’m sorry, Bam, I’ll text you later tonight, okay,” Yugyeom says distractedly, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. He smacks Jinyoung on the shoulder, who protests half-heartedly. 

With that, he practically sprints out of the apartment, and the two friends watch him go. Bambam is just so _fond,_ smiling to himself while he replays the kiss again in his mind _._ There’s a comfortable silence between them, as both go about tidying up the room. Arranging and rearranging containers of products, straightening out furniture in an amicable quiet.

Before they met, Bambam would've never even bothered cleaning up after himself. He probably would have walked out of the room without a second thought, already preoccupied with what flavor of seasoning he should add to the ramen he was going to make. It’s touching, in an odd way, the unconscious impact his best friend has had on him, in even the most inconsequential ways.

Jinyoung finally breaks the silence.

“Do you think Jackson is going to kick his ass?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Bambam snorts. Jinyoung rolls out his shoulder idly, joints clicking.

“Do you want to go to The Grove and get lunch?” he asks.

“Hell yes,” Bambam answers, already jamming his feet into his heeled boots. He perks his silvery head up to peer at his roommate.

“Do you really think Yugyeom thinks Latte is ugly?” he asks, abruptly recalling one of the questions Jinyoung had asked.

Jinyoung doesn’t respond, electing to sigh and shove Bambam out of the front door instead.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Bambam asks, even as Yugyeom shoves the Armani suit jacket down his shoulders.

They’re just now coming back from some awards show, or maybe it was a brand launch, Bambam can hardly think at the moment, let alone remember. It really was a nice night though, he admits. Seeing all of his friends, eating boujee food and drinking signature cocktails, and getting to ogle Yugyeom in his sinfully-tight tailored suit. JB had introduced them all to his new boyfriend, some guy he met in his edgy, underground artist circles with a booming laugh unlike any Bambam had ever heard. They went well together, he remembers thinking, Jinyoung and Jackson's proud smiles sticking out in his mind.

All of that seems like a distant memory now, as Yugyeom tries to devour his lips, while at the same time trying to singlehandedly undress both of them.

“Damn, easy there, big guy,” Bambam has to laugh, and Yugyeom bites his lip in retribution.

Tonight was the night. They were finally committing to doing something they had been _talking_ about doing for ages; Bambam was fucking Yugyeom. Yugyeom had heatedly informed him of this fact tucked into the back of the limousine, and Bambam payed the driver an extra 100 to get them back to the apartment as fast as legally possible.

The thing is, Yugyeom has turned out to be a bit of an enigma in the bedroom. Bambam can tell clearly that he has so many desires and things he wants to try, but he holds himself back. It always takes a little bit of coaxing, but with enough time and patience, Bambam can get Yugyeom to get over the embarrassment and do what makes him actually feel good. And Bambam is more than willing to go through it every time; to him, the only thing that matters is his boyfriend's happiness. If it so happens that Yugyeom is a kinky motherfucker, then Bambam will be right there with him. Express-delivering handcuffs and custom vibrators right to his own doorstep, if that’s what Yugyeom’s into.

This, though. They’ve both known from the very beginning this was something Yugyeom was interested in. But the younger hadn’t been ready yet. It’s one thing to top another guy for the first time; there’s still a twisted sense of power that’s preserved. You can say to yourself, _hey, at least I’m still the one on top._ (At least that’s what Yugyeom had described to him, the few times they actually spoke about the issue). It’s another entirely to take it up the ass. It’s surprisingly basic, but it still takes someone who’s fully secure in his masculinity, and Yugyeom has been working diligently to get there.

So that bring them to where they are now. Yugyeom looking up at him in just his boxers, and a glint in his eye that screams ‘ _ravage me’._ Bambam quickly removes the rest of his own clothes, folding them neatly on the dresser once he’s done because, hello, he still has his priorities.

Yugyeom is warm and steady underneath his hands. Bambam trails kisses down his stomach, wasting no time in getting his mouth on the tent forming in the stylish boxer briefs Bambam had specifically laid out for him to wear under the unforgiving fabric of his suit. Yugyeom is even hotter here, straining desperately against his underwear, and he gasps when Bambam adds to the wetness already left there by precum.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Yugyeom tells him, tugging at Bambam’s still-styled hair.

He wants to tease the younger for his eagerness, but he also doesn’t want to ruin the mood or make Yugyeom feel insecure enough to want to stop. So, he holds his tongue. Bambam gives Yugyeom one more firm squeeze, just to hear him whimper, before he’s tugging the briefs down. His cock springs up to rest against his stomach, pink and angry, but Bambam ignores it for now. Instead, he spreads Yugyeom’s pale legs apart, leaning down to nip a mark into skin of his left thigh before he can stop himself.

“See, I told you! Maybe it is a sexual thing after all,” Yugyeom’s giggle is breathless, and Bambam pinches the other thigh to silence him.

“Shit, I think the lube is in the bathroom downstairs,” Bambam says. “Do you think you can wait here long enough for me to go grab it, sweetheart?”

Yugyeom snorts indignantly. “Of course I can,” he says, shooing the other away with his foot.

Bambam leaps up off the bed, creeping as quickly as he can down the staircase without falling. On his way past the dimly-lit kitchen, he passes by something he was not expecting to see.

“J-Jinyoung,” he stammers, suddenly confronted by his best friend leaning against the counter, phone in hand and sporting a skeptical expression. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be out with Jackson right now.” _Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious, do—_

Realizing his current state of undress, Bambam slides behind the other side of the kitchen island. He sends up a prayer to Buddha himself that Jinyoung hadn’t seen the semi pressing against his unforgiving, form-fitting boxers.

Jinyoung narrows his eyes at him. “He got tied up talking to an exec. He’s coming to pick me up in about half an hour. What have _you_ been up to?” He sounds a bit accusatory, and a shade smug. “Didn’t you just get home? Looks like you’ve run an entire marathon.”

Bambam stutters, knowing that nothing he can say will safely get him out of this impossible situation.

“I’m sorry, hyung, I’ve got a hot piece of ass waiting for me upstairs. I hope you can understand,” he finally bursts out, dashing past Jinyoung and into the bathroom. The loud, delighted _ha ha_ of Jinyoung’s laughter echoes behind him.

He opens the medicine cabinet, quickly finding the brand-new bottle of lubricant on the top shelf. He briefly spies his reflection, noting how odd he looks, still completely done up in bold, glittery makeup and almost perfectly styled hair but clad only in his underwear. 

“Have fun you two!” Jinyoung calls after him as he climbs the stairs. Bambam has no choice but to ignore him, for the sake of his own sanity.

He slams the door shut behind him, catching his breath against the frame. The view Bambam is met with is a lot to take in. Yugyeom is still lying on the bed _—_ only now he’s got one hand around himself, the other muffling his noises as he thrusts up shamelessly into his own grip. _Goddamn._ Bambam wants write sonnets about the perfect arch of that back.

“Stop that,” Bambam admonishes, pulling away Yugyeom’s hand and pinning it back, “You’re going to get yourself worked up way too early, and then what will we do?”

“You were taking too long,” Yugyeom mumbles back, still a little dazed at the interruption of his impromptu ‘personal time’.

Bambam lets go of Yugyeom’s hand to pour lube onto his own fingers. He traces a light hand along the sharp hipbone, wordlessly asking permission. Yugyeom looks down at him and nods his head, and Bambam receives the message loud and clear.

He doesn’t push in right away, trailing the pad of his index finger over the hole a few times just to watch Yugyeom tense up around nothing. Before Yugyeom can accuse him of teasing, he presses the tips of two of his fingers into the entrance at once.

It’s not entirely new territory for them. Bambam had done this a couple times before, testing the waters, a finger or two typically proving to be the limit for Yugyeom. When they entertained this in the past, it was mostly relegated to dirty talk; Bambam whispering into Yugyeom’s ear when he fucked him, describing how it felt, and how much he would love to do it Yugyeom, when he was ready. Yugyeom always came the hardest on those nights.

Bambam has two fingers fully inside. This is where Yugyeom usually taps out, when Bambam tries to start moving, so he wants to proceed with caution. Yugyeom doesn’t seem to be giving any indication he wants him to stop, though, just fisting his hands in the sheets as Bambam scissors him open. He mouths along Yugyeom’s sensitive jaw as an apology for the sting he knows the younger is feeling.

“Bambam—”

“You want me to get the blindfold, right?” Bambam finishes his sentence for him, and Yugyeom nods dizzily.

Bambam ducks over the side of the bed to retrieve the silky piece of fabric from the dresser. Another thing Yugyeom had wanted to try, and both of them had enjoyed it enough to keep it around as a semi-permanent fixture in their rotation of toys and tricks. When Bambam slips the blindfold around Yugyeom’s eyes and fastens it tight, the younger lets out a breath of relief. His thighs relax even as Bambam returns to preparing him, like some unseen pressure has been lifted from him.

He crooks his three fingers inside of Yugyeom, stroking his bent knee to distract from the unforgiving curl of the motion. _Jesus, what does one person even do with all that leg,_ Bambam thinks, letting his nails dig lightly into the skin. Yugyeom lets out a shocked gasp at the assault of stimulation, and grips the sheets to where his knuckles turn white from the force of it.

“Does it feel okay, Yugyeom-ah? Is it too much?” Bambam asks. He gives Yugyeom’s cock a conciliatory stroke, and Bambam is fascinated by the way his throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing uselessly and the muscles in his neck straining. It belatedly occurs to him that he probably shouldn’t have distracted Yugyeom like that if he was actually hoping for a coherent answer.

“Bambam, please…” and Bambam immediately stops altogether. He watches Yugyeom’s face, obscured by the black silk. His heart-shaped lips are shiny with spit, and they open and close a few times before he says anything. “You don’t… You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

 _Oh._ It sets a fire underneath his skin, Yugyeom’s words. If he wanted Bambam to be less forgiving, rough him up a little bit... Yugyeom’s wish is his command. He shoves his fingers as far inside Yugyeom’s walls as he can, and he feels the tip of his digit brush against that delightful little spot he was searching for. A high, strangled moan is his reward. Bambam repeats the motion a few times, jackhammering in with an almost callous attitude. It’s so easy, with the punched-out breaths and the way Yugyeom’s stomach tenses in time with each thrust, to image something _else_ pounding into him.

And patience is a virtue and everything, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t the situation the saints had in mind when they said that, so fuck it.

“I think that’s enough,” Bambam says, clinically, like he’s a doctor examining a patient. Bambam’s an honest guy, but he doesn’t mind putting on a show of indifference if it turns Yugyeom on (which it clearly _does_ ). That’s what love does to a person, apparently.

He quickly pulls back his fingers, and Yugyeom whines at the sense of emptiness that overtakes him. Suddenly, Bambam gets an idea; it’s evil, and that’s how he knows it’s perfect. He leans in close, swiping across Yugyeom’s entrance with his warm tongue in one broad stroke. He doesn’t give Yugyeom any kind of warning, and Bambam doesn’t think he’s ever heard the sound that makes its way out of Yugyeom’s mouth. He can see the way his leg jumps at the contact, and how his cock pulses, fresh precum leaking out to pool against his flat stomach.

“Holy _shit_ , bam, warn a guy next time,” Yugyeom grumbles, but again his body betrays him, because his thighs are trembling. 

Bambam solemnly makes plans to tie Yugyeom up and eat him out properly on another night. And maybe the reverse of that, too. At the moment, they have a mission to complete, and if the games had taught them anything, it’s that Bambam never backs down from a challenge.

He has to stop himself from asking how Yugyeom wanted to do this. _Take the initiative, Bambam,_ he chides himself. Yugyeom had given him essentially blanket permission to have his way with him, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“On your hands and knees, babe,” Bambam drawls, already busy slicking himself up. The friction feels amazing on his cock, already fully hard from all Yugyeom’s little mewls and generally everything else about him too. Yugyeom’s moan is embarrassed, but he moves to obey.

“God, I should take a picture of you so I can remember this forever. What a beautiful sight you make, Yugyeom,” Bambam rambles, running his thumbs reverently over the slim arch of Yugyeom’s waist. He lets his hands wander up to tighten the blindfold harshly.

He uses one hand line himself up, the other to position Yugyeom to the best of his ability. Despite his earlier bravado and Yugyeom’s request, Bambam can’t help but press soft, comforting kisses against the sweaty skin of Yugyeom’s shoulders as he sinks further and further in. The feeling is so overwhelming, Bambam realizes he has to distract himself somehow, quickly, or he’ll come right there and then.

 _Bobby throwing up at the beer pong competition, Big Matthew telling him in excruciating detail the time he and Amber hooked up, walking in on Jackson and Jinyoung._ Shit—why was that last one not helping him cool down at all?

Bambam notices Yugyeom’s still wearing his necklace, the silver chain dangling off his chest enticingly. He closes his fingers around the jewelry, dragging Yugyeom back by his neck so he can whisper in his ear.

“I’m going to start moving now, okay?” he says, soft and seductive, and all Yugyeom can do is whimper.

Bambam draws back and undulates his hips in a way that has Yugyeom’s knees spreading apart even wider on the bed sheets. In this position, he takes Bambam even deeper than he previously thought possible. _How does Yugyeom do this all the time?_ Bambam has to bite his lip so hard he thinks it must be bleeding; trying so desperately not to come undone.

Yugyeom’s breath comes out in soft pants, while he struggles to support himself on shaking forearms. It doesn’t stop him from moving his hips back to try and meet Bambam’s, a silent request for more.

Bambam needs to get a grip. The sheer amount of trust Yugyeom shows in the gesture, in his letting Bambam do _this_ to him; it almost crushes him. Unbidden, Bambam is reminded of Yugyeom, smiling back at him across that lavish kitchen, his hand outstretched before him. With that image in mind, the contrast to the scene in front him is devastating. Bambam really can’t believe how far the two of them have come over the course of just months.

(‘ _Whipped,’_ he hears his inner Jinyoung say.)

Ignoring it, he starts up a moderate pace. The way they move together is mesmerizing, rhythmic—Bambam is captivated by the picture of their bodies, meeting together in a desperate sort of dance. He’s noticed that something about the deprivation of his sight helps evaporate all the shame inside of Yugyeom. There’s nothing shy about the wet noises his boyfriend is making, or the way he fists his cock, trying to match Bambam’s deep, dragging thrusts.

“You’re taking it so well,” Bambam says, almost completely lost to the ecstasy, but never failing to take an opportunity to praise Yugyeom. He slaps the spot where Yugyeom’s ass meets his thigh, the skin turning red underneath his hand.

Bambam has to wonder where the urge came from. He feels a little embarrassed afterwards; what was he thinking, spanking Yugyeom like that, like he’s some kind of tacky pornstar? He doesn’t have much time to regret, however, because Yugyeom gasps underneath him, squirming back against him in a manner that shows he very _much_ enjoyed the attention.

Part of what makes the sex between them so great is the fact that he’s having it with _Yugyeom_. Someone he loves, cherishes, knows so intimately that they can trust each other with anything. Bambam greedily takes in all the little things that help remind him just _who_ he’s doing this with. Yugyeom’s long, pale limbs. The reedy timbre of his voice, choking on his own moans. The dark halo of his hair cascading off his forehead as his head jerks forward with every movement of Bambam inside of him.

“More, Bamie, I need it harder, _please,”_ Yugyeom’s just barely holding on, knees trembling. 

“Fuck, Yugyeom, take your blindfold off. Want you to see this,” Bambam says. Yugyeom’s hands shake as his long, delicate fingers work to comply.

The fabric falls away, and Yugyeom blinks blearily back at him as his vision returns. His long neck has to crane behind him to meet Bambam’s gaze. The sight of his flushed face, the tears clinging to his long lashes fill Bambam with such a rush of affection, he almost falters.

“I love you,” he rushes out, hips speeding up on their own accord, “I love you so much, you’re so beautiful.”

Yugyeom’s face scrunches up in pleasure, tears falling to streak down his defined cheeks. Bambam kind of loves the way Yugyeom’s crybaby tendencies carry over to when they’re having sex. It’s not the first time he’s thought to himself that his boyfriend really shouldn’t look this _cute,_ in this context. Bambam guesses he can’t help it. Adorable was just written into Kim Yugyeom’s DNA.

Bambam watches himself, in slow motion, raise a hand to thread itself in Yugyeom’s hair. He uses his grip as leverage, pushing Yugyeom’s head down, _down,_ until it’s shoved into the pillow below. Yugyeom’s arms finally give out under the pressure, making him collapse, flush with the bed.

Bambam keeps him in place, pinning the younger down into the mattress as his hips snap forward brutally to take, just the way he knows Yugyeom wants him to. The sudden dominance, the possessiveness, has Yugyeom whining brokenly, obscenely muffled into the fabric.

They’re usually pretty talkative, even in bed. They talk dirty, give feedback and commentary, sometimes they even gossip about the current online drama. The lack of chatter makes the atmosphere feel heavier. It makes everything hit differently, intensifying the feeling of it, with only the quiet groans and creaking of the bed to listen to.

Bambam just pulls Yugyeom’s hair harder. The younger tightens around him in response, a blessing and a curse, and _sobs_. 

“Yugyeom,” he gasps, “Touch yourself.”

Yugyeom’s hand disappears beneath him, to where he’s trapped against the sheets. Bambam wants to burn the image into his memory.

All of it is too much, they both know it. Bambam can feel the drop coming in his stomach like he’s at the peak of a particularly daunting rollercoaster. Bambam pulls out, coming onto the wide expanse of Yugyeom’s back with an embarrassing cry. The only thing on his tongue when he does is Yugyeom’s name, over and over again—a mantra.

He flips Yugyeom over hastily, the other with his eyes still clenched shut, murmuring feverish little pleas for release. Bambam closes his lips over the head, swirling his tongue with a practiced fluency. Yugyeom’s hot in his mouth, the weight heavy on his tongue and _so,_ so familiar. He presses down into the slit, and that’s all it takes for Yugyeom to tense up, spilling warm and bitter into Bambam’s waiting mouth.

He swallows dutifully, figuring there’s no harm in busting out the 5-star treatment to wrap up Yugyeom’s first time bottoming. He doesn’t pull away until Yugyeom is groaning about sensitivity, cringing away from the wet embrace.

He collapses back next to Yugyeom.

“Soooo… How was it?” He can hear the way his accent comes out thicker than normal, making him curl around the syllables strangely.

Yugyeom turns his head to look at him. “There’s cum on my back.” Bambam twiddles his thumbs, saying nothing.

“Your makeup is a mess.”

“...”

Yugyeom shifts closer. “It was perfect,” he says, placing a kiss just beneath Bambam’s eye.

“Hey, that’s my move,” Bambam complains, kissing Yugyeom’s mole back, just to emphasize his point. They both snicker, mostly at nothing, drunk on the intimacy and satisfaction.

Bambam watches lazily as Yugyeom cleans up, a reversal of their usual roles. Apparently, it takes a lot of energy to fuck someone; Bambam makes a mental note to be extra nice to Yugyeom in the future, when he returns to doing the majority of the topping.

”It’s not as easy it looks, I’ll give you that,” Bambam offers, tucking an arm behind his head to smirk at his boyfriend. 

Yugyeom’s eyes wrinkle the way they do when Bambam says something particularly exasperating, and he doesn’t know wether to laugh, roll his eyes, or take part in the nonsense himself.

He moves around Bambam’s room with a confidence that only comes with familiarity, rifling through cabinets and easily locating the items he’s looking for. Neither of them bothers to get dressed; it’s warm enough in the apartment to forego stifling pajamas. Bless California and its mild, Mediterranean climate. Bambam scoots closer to rest his head on Yugyeom’s chest when he returns. The taller man strokes Bambam’s crispy, dye-altered hair in response, sighing contentedly.

“Would you run away with me, Yugyeom?” Bambam asks. “After all this Youtube stuff dies down. When people start to get bored of us, and we’re not cute enough to be celebrities anymore anyway.”

Yugyeom hums and shifts around, getting more comfortable. “That depends. Where to?”

Bambam trails a finger down the bare chest he lays on. Tracing Yugyeom’s clavicles, down to the sternum, languid as he etches patterns onto the skin. Bambam wonders how long before there’s ink here, too.

“Thailand, of course,” he replies. “I’ll introduce you to my family and my mom will adore you. My brothers will be annoyingly protective but eventually they’ll try to drag you out drinking every night and choregraph dance numbers with you. And Baby will love you, I already know she will…” Bambam trails off, eyelids getting heavier with every passing moment.

“Does it matter if I can’t speak a word of Thai?” He feels the amused rumble of Yugyeom’s voice vibrate through his entire body.

“Nah. You can just be my trophy wife. I’ll be a big designer; clothes, makeup, shoes you name it. All you have to do is stick around and be pretty.” Bambam half-mumbles the words.

More laughter, soft and exhausted.

“Okay,” Yugyeom agrees, sounding mostly asleep himself.

Bambam knows he says it just to placate him. But Bambam can’t help but imagine for a split-second, a future there with Yugyeom. Surrounded by family, laughter, and prosperity. Where it would never rain and they could eat street food every day and never get fat, falling into bed every night in each other’s arms.

But Bambam knows Yugyeom would never leave his friends behind, couldn’t abandon Jackson. Bambam couldn’t leave Jinyoung either. He can hardly even imagine it. They have a life here; a family here, too. That’s worth something much more than Bambam’s idle fantasies.

It’s thoughts of bright skylines, teasing friends, and love that fill Bambam’s head as he drifts into sleep, and the finally sun sets on LA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I drift back into the ether.
> 
> Yugbam forever bro


End file.
